


I'm a sinner, I'm a dreamer

by Ellurian



Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 185,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellurian/pseuds/Ellurian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our boys are facing some changes in their lives – Chris must deal with parts of his soul he has kept hidden (even from himself) for far too long, while Tom tries to handle being drawn to a married+ man, his friend -  Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> I don't know why - but these two have managed to capture my imagination.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this story, as it holds a piece of my heart.
> 
> Make note that this is not beta'd (If you're interested, let me know), so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Cheers.
> 
>  
> 
> ******  
> What if a man glances at the grayer shades of life after some solid, long term decisions are already made?
> 
> And what if another man dreams of the unreachable when just everything else is ripe for the taking?  
> ******

Chris wakes up with an inaudible gasp.

His eyes flutter open in the dark, only able to make out his hand nearby his face, gripping the pillow. A wave of suffocating heat washes over his senses and he feels trapped within the tangled sheets, his chest heaving and his back clammy with sweat.

The room around him is quiet but for his ragged breathing and he remains still, trying to regain composure.

Only a dream, he thinks, trying to soothe himself. It didn’t really happen.

With his eyes getting used to the dark, he turns his head and sees his wife lying next to him, soundly asleep.

Chris feels the situation for what it is, and so he contemplates it only for a moment, then rises into a sitting position onto the side of the bed. His eyes drop with fatigue, but he knows he won’t be able to fall asleep soon.

He relieves himself in the bathroom and afterwards strips down his shirt which was sticking to his cooling sweat covered back. On his way out, he only pays a single glance to the bedroom, and with disquiet still gnawing on his stomach, he continues to the apartment’s living room, eventually sitting on the couch facing the window.

Chris inhales a few deep breaths, settles down the rest of the tension in his body and listens to the night’s lull of stillness.

His eyes serve the living room until they rest on a pile of clothes, neatly folded on the opposite couch. Those are his clothes, he knows, ready and set for his working day tomorrow.

Chris lifts his fingers to noisily scratch at his bare chest and frowns.

In his dream, he is running on a deck, chasing a train. His throat feels parched and dusty, and so while he repeatedly tries to call out to the driver to slow down the train and wait, that he is here, just behind the wagon - his mouth only produces a few shrivelled words, sounding like ragged whispers. Despaired, he slows down to a halt and stares at the diminishing train.

As he searches for other trains, buses, or any other means which might be able to take him away from the abandoned station, the night falls quickly and swallows him whole.

Swishing night breeze flows from the window and Chris shivers, but not only from the night’s chill.

A small book on the table draws his attention and he leans forward to pull it into his lap.  
He had bought this book for his daughter, not too long ago. It is a children’s book, exploring the sun’s solar system and even presenting the Milky Way, earth’s galaxy.

Chris slowly browses through the pages, the fine images of stars and other wonders of space drawing his curiosity and imagination just as they did back in the store when he had spotted the book for the first time. His fingers roam over the last image in the book, a panoramic image of the brightest stars seen from earth on an especially dark night, taken in the Nevada dessert in the Unites States.

He closes the book, places it back on the table, and resumes staring at the night sky through the window.

Chris's thoughts travel to his wife, his children, his parents and brothers, his career.

Soon enough he turns his gaze back to the neatly folded clothes on the couch.

All is set. All is ready for work, he thinks, and an uneven huff escapes his lips.

I have everything I need in my life, he tells himself.

I don’t need anything else. Nothing is missing.

Impatient with himself, he rises from the couch and strides towards the bedroom, trying to stifle the thuds of his bare feet meeting the floor.

A howl is sounded through the window and he halts. An animal’s howl, tight and hacked.  
It sounds like laughter, he muses. As if someone out there is mocking him.

Chris lets out a barely muffled curse and resumes walking to bedroom,  
determined to go back to sleep.

Tomorrow he will go back to his life’s regular routine, and nothing, he thinks, nothing will be missing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Tom.

Months later, Tom would still wonder if that day really was the turning point, or perhaps his secrets were crawling quietly below his feet long before, slowly creeping up his body towards his mischievous little heart.

Months later indeed. For now, his day has been progressing as any other working day would.

Bearing his regular work and tasks during an outdoors shooting day, Tom felt the hot sun taking its toll on him.

He didn’t feel at his best, sensing his performance was bland and knowing he could do so much better were he more focused. This was not one of his better days, and he was anxious to get their scenes rehearsing and filming done with, remove his suit, rinse the make-up from his face, and get back to his apartment.

Late evening was approaching when they were still trying to finalize and refine a certain scene between Loki and Thor. The shot was supposed to hold a rather serious air to it, but at the end of the day it only came out uptight and skittish. Both of them, as in he and Chris, weren't happy with the results.

With Tom too stubborn to admit defeat, eventually it was Chris who called it a day and asked to resume the shooting of the scene the next day.

“It won’t do, repeating the same lines over and over. It's simply not… not ready to play itself out. I think my head needs to knead into it through the night.” Chris said and Tom felt too sweaty inside his suit to argue.

Besides, Chris was right.

They were just about to retire to the changing rooms when one of the crew guys approached at Chris quietly and informed him that someone has contacted the production’s secretary and asked for him. Tom tried to remain as close as he could to Chris as they walked, eavesdropping the conversation with the messenger almost shamelessly.

“A man named Mark Bennet had left you a message, saying he’s been trying to reach your cell phone since this morning. He asked that you call him as soon as you can.”

Chris's face lit up with a surprised smile almost instantly.

“Really? Well, thanks for letting me know, um, Scott, is it? I’ll call him soon enough.”

Scott nodded shyly, obviously happy with the use of his name and left.

 

Tom was curious.

“Who’s Mark Bennet?”

Chris flashed him a quick grin.

“We attended some courses together back in college. We were quite close, and he even moved into the United States about a year after I left Australia. He’s a charming guy actually.  We haven’t spoken for two years I think… I hope he’s got some good news for me.”

Tom has never heard Chris refer to someone else as _charming_ before.

“Sounds interesting enough. Take that scene-kneading easy alright? I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Chris chuckled. “Laugh all you want Tommy, you’ll see how it all brilliantly plays out tomorrow. Take care.”

Tom turned with smile and headed to his changing room.

He sighed with relief as he stepped out of his suit. Thankfully he only wore a thin layer of make-up which he managed to remove easily enough. He thought about the warm bath in his rented flat that was waiting for him to soak in and felt neck muscles relax at the notion.

He walked out of the filming site and was about to call for a taxi when he noticed a familiar car parking at the opposite side of the road. He stopped and squinted his eyes to confirm what he thought he saw. Seeing he was not wrong, he pocketed his mobile and crossed the road, heading towards the car.

Chris was sitting motionless in the driver’s seat, his face blank.

Tom knocked on the side window.

“Chris.”

Chris blinked and shook his head, looking startled. He looked at Tom, then brought his hands up and grabbed the stirring wheel.

“Tom… Tom. Sorry. I was thinking.”

Something happened, Tom thought.

“Hold on a moment, don’t start the car.”

He walked to the other side of the car, opened the door and entered the car into the seat next to Chris.

“What’s going on Chris. Talk to me.”

Chris’s chest rose and sank slowly, his hands not releasing their grip on the wheel.

“Mark. I spoke to him. He is … he is sick with cancer”,  He said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“The doctors... they don’t give him much time.”

Tom held his breath and turned to look at the road.

“He’s hospitalized in Wolfson’s hospital, about two hours driving from here. He asked me to visit him as soon as I can, tonight if possible.”

Tom nodded slowly.

“Are you going to see him now?”

“Yea… yea. I just needed a moment to take it all in.”

Chris turned to face him and tried to give him a measured look, yet Tom could see how unfocused his eyes were, his face tense and jaws set tight. Taking a quick glance to Chris’s hands, he saw his fingers pale, rigidly clasping the stirring wheel.

Uh uh. This just won’t do - his mother’s voice played through his mind.

He was wrenched after a tiring day’s work, and being spontaneous was not one of his top priorities at the moment, but something was wrong and he couldn't quite leave without doing anything . He wanted to be there for Chris.

Silently bidding his warm bath one last goodbye, Tom threw his bag to the back seat.

“I’ll come with you Chris. Let’s go.”

Chris turned to look at him, his eyes a little wide with surprise.

“I will not bother you with this Tom.”

 _But you’re not refusing either_ , Tom thought.

“Going home knowing you are driving some long distances while being tired and confused will bother my sleep more than you think. Come on Chris, start the car.”

Chris rubbed his eyes and turned to face at him again, appearing stern yet thankful.

“You won’t be back in your flat earlier than two or three am. Are you sure? I can do this by myself.”

Tom buckled his seat belt.

  
“My warm bubble bath shall wait for me patiently enough, I’m sure. Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I forgot to clarify in earlier chapters - the general timeline of this story is set during the filming of Thor's third film.
> 
>  
> 
> I have legalized robbery  
> Called it a belief  
> I have run with the money  
> And hid like a thief  
> I have re-written history  
> With my armies and my crooks  
> Invented memories  
> I did burn all the books  
> And I can still hear his laughter  
> And I can still hear his song  
> The man's too big  
> The man's too strong  
>   
> [The man's too strong - Dire Straits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVdB-UKfxD4)

They drove silently yet not uncomfortably, Tom watching the red sunset as Chris drove just slightly above the speed limit whenever the road was clear enough to allow him to.

The hospital was easy to find and so was a parking lot for Chris’s car. He called Mark again and asked for his room number and floor level while they were walking to the hospital’s main entrance.

Tom bit at his nail absently as they crossed the entrance into the main hall. He did not like hospitals, moderately speaking. The faint scent of medications, ointments and sanitized environment did not go easy with his senses, making him feel as if he was inhaling some general swarm of illness into his lungs.

“Are you alright? You look a little green.” Chris said as they took the elevator to Mark’s floor.

Staring at his own reflection through that hideous elevator’s mirror, Tom chuckled.

“Just trying to fit in with the rest of the guys here.”

Chris hummed but did not smile back.

“I’ll make sure not to prolong the visit more than necessary.”

Tom was about to tell him not to take it too seriously but shrugged it off when the elevator’s doors opened and Chris walked out briskly, entering the floor. With Tom trailing behind him, they walked silently around the floor until they found Mark’s room.

They both stopped and stared at the room’s closed door, and Tom started feeling a little foolish for taking the elevator with Chris, who certainly didn't need his hand held the entire time.

“You take your time with him. I’ll be sitting outside the room or maybe taking a walk near by.”

Chris nodded at him.

“Thanks Tom.”

Tom smiled mildly at Chris and clapped his back.

“Call me if you need anything.”

Chris said that he will and returned the smile, which made Tom feel slightly better.

He heard the door close behind Chris and took his surroundings.

The florescent bulbs were quietly buzzing, spreading some sick, pale light onto the entire lonely floor.

Tom sat on the closest, worn out cushion chair with a thud, and winced.

This is all just _charming_.

 

 

\-------------------------

 

Chris shut the room’s door, pulling the door’s handle behind him with his slightly shaking hand, and looked around.

He searched the room for a familiar face, not really wanting to find it, but eventually he spotted Mark at the bed near by the window.

He walked towards the bed with his throat tight and hands shoved deeply into his pockets.

Mark was lying on his side, speaking to another man and calmly smiling at him, looking strangely peaceful considering his current circumstances.

Chris cleared his throat and approached the bed slowly.

Mark turned his face as he heard Chris approaching and his face lit with a laugh.

“Chris! I can’t believe my own eyes...Chris! Come here my long lost friend!”

Chris smiled as widely as his tight throat allowed him to and closed the distance to his friend.

Mark rose half way form the bed ad hugged Chris warmly. Chris hugged him back and buried his face in his friend’s shoulder, unable to speak.

“Mark”, he murmured into the man’s shirt.

Mark released him and pushed him back, still smiling at Chris and looking at him from head to waist.

“Look at you, you handsome bastard…. You look fantastic.”

Chris didn’t know what to say. His friend was pale, looking old for his years and bald - probably a result of chemotherapy treatments. He tried to keep his smile as steady and natural as possible.

“I came as soon as I could -”

Mark chuckled and squeezed Chris’s arm.

“I’ll be the first to know that, I only first called you this morning. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you managed to show up.”

Mark looked behind Chris, and Chris recalled his friend was talking to someone before he noticed his arrival.

He looked back and saw a man looking behind him, smiling lightly at them both.

“This is Howard, also my friend.”

Chris nodded and shook Howard’s hand, noting the man’s welcoming features and warm smile. He looked like a good man.

“Good to meet you Chris. I’ve heard good things about you.” He said, then looked at Mark.

“I think I’ll use Chris’s visit as an opportunity for a coffee break.”

Mark nodded and Howard walked to the door. Chris followed him with his gaze until he left the room and turned to Mark.

He opened his mouth to speak but only managed to stammer.

“Mark I…. I don’t know what to say. I had no idea. I came as soon as you told me - “

“Yea, you said that already… I am more than very happy to see you. How long has it been since we’ve met? Three years?”

Chris thought back to their last meeting.

“Something like that, yes.”

“Well - you’ve come all this way for me, I might as well spare you the obvious questions.”

Mark laid back, his expression still radiating affection and ease.

“I was diagnosed with liver cancer just about twelve months ago, by an accident actually. I came to the hospital in order to remove some old scar from my stomach, they took some images of my abdomen, and the rest is history.”

“I understand”, Chris said numbly.

Mark chuckled and squeezed Chris’s shoulder.

“Relax Chris, relax. You've come to visit me, we are here now and that’s the only thing that matters.”

Chris lifted his eyes to Mark, inhaled deeply and nodded with consent.

“Mark my words Hemsworth - life is short and beautiful. Now tell me - how are your lovely wife and children? And of course -  I hear you are quite a big shot in Hollywood, in fact. Tell me a little bit about your life, make me jealous.”

Chris snorted and indeed, felt himself slowly relax. He told Mark about his family, his career and his life in America in general.

Mark listened to his words and seemed grateful for the conversation.

“Sounds like you've worked hard and honest for your success. Not many can say that for themselves.”

Chris didn’t reply at first.

It’s never enough, he wanted to say. Some things are missing, but I cannot put them into words or thoughts.

But he said none of that. Such honesty may open a discussion he was certain he didn't want to get into. Another time and place perhaps.

Instead, he talked a little more about the intense travelling his roles sometimes required, and how exhausted he is left after undergoing those travels.

“Hmm. And how does your wife fare with those distances and time gaps between you?” Mark asked him.

Chris considered this. It was a complicated, painful question of course, yet the answer was rather simple.

“It’s difficult for her, but we are coping.”

It was Mark’s turn to give him a strange, searching look, which, oddly enough, threw Chris into an unexpected defence mode - He wanted the ball out of his court.

“What about your family? your wife? How do you even start handling this… situation?”

Mark averted his gaze to the nearest wall for a moment, and then looked again back to Chris.

“Would you mind fetching some water please? and have some for yourself as well mate, you look parched.”

“Sure, of course.” Chris said and, feeling senseless, he regretted his question immediately. He went to the sink and filled two plastic cups with water. He walked back to the bed, handed one to Mark and sat back next to him.

“Forget what I asked. I know perfectly well that things are not simple.”

Mark did not reply and drank his water quietly, absently inspecting his cup. A few minutes had passed with none of them speaking.

Finally he looked back at Chris and held his gaze.

“Some things have changed about me, Chris, and only recently I've felt I am ready to share them with you.”

He emptied his water cup and placed it on the near by table.

“I do not know how much timer I have left… a week, a month, a year. What I do know, is that during this time granted to me, I wish to be content and peaceful. I hope you will find it within yourself to understand me and my decisions.”

Frowning a little, Chris nodded silently. He searched his friend’s face, noticing his jaw was working, his eyes were glassy and reluctantly braced himself for whatever it is that was coming. He had believed that the he had already swallowed today’s throat twisting pill of news.  Learning about Mark’s disease was enough, surely.

“Whatever it is that you are going to say mate, we are still friends.”

Mark thanked him and took a deep breath. Here goes, Chris thought.

“My wife… is not my wife anymore. We have separated.”

Startled, Chris sensed his own eyes widening and lips parting into a small gape.

“You heard it right. We are not together.”

“But… I mean…Since when?”

“Four months ago.”

“Is it because of your… sickness?”

Mark nodded.

“Yes, but not the way you think. It was me who had asked her for divorce.”

Chris only managed to give Mark a ludicrous look. He rubbed his face and sighed deeply into his palms. Eventually, he began to chuckle, his bitter laugh muffled by his hands.

“My dear Mark, forgive me, but I do hope you divorced her for a good reason.”

Mark joined his laugh with a smile which didn't quite reach his eyes.

“I think I did, Chris.”

He licked his lips, gripped Chris’s wrist tightly and regarded him, his eyes filled with purpose.

“Chris. I live with Howard now.”

And that was it.

I live with Howard now.

“We live together. We _are_ together.”

Chris felt his heart beat speed up inside his chest, his lungs tightening. His mind was blank, yet he felt a wave of an almost violent excitement and horror wash over him.

Feeling speechless for the second time that night, He brought both of hands to cover Mark’s palm.

Mark took a deep breath and his lips quivered.

“I asked you to come as soon as you could manage because I wanted you to know who I am, while I am still lucid enough to talk. I wanted to tell you that...”

His voice broke and he covered his mouth with his free hand. His silent whimpers filled the room, hitting Chris’s chest like a wave of led.

“Forgive me Chris, forgive me.”

Searching the room for nothing at all with his eyes, Chris slowly rose from his chair, his throat constricted and his head pounding.  He neared the bed, gently placed his hand on Mark’s shoulder and pulled him into a quiet embrace.

Mark did not resist and let Chris hold him.

“There was something missing from my heart Chris, some deep black abyss never in my life I had dared to look into. When I learned I was dying, I… I wanted to live, to honestly be.”

Chris said nothing, and only tightened his hold on his friend. He felt crushed, as if some very well rooted, elemental pillar of reason inside his mind had just suffered a direct, explosive hit.

As if breaking free from rational, Chris's thoughts raced somewhere very, very distant, to a long ago abandoned territory of his soul.

A sharp wave of heat spread through his body, and Chris shook his head, attempting to regain composure over himself.

_Something missing from the heart._

  
Mark decided to return his embrace just then, and so Chris placed his forehead on Mark’s shoulder, and trying to remain stable on his shaky legs, he let himself be held as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I remind everyone that this is not beta'd and so all mistakes are definitely mine.


	4. Chapter 4

Tom was dozing on the bench when the creek of the hospital room’s door opening stirred him from his sleep.

Openning his eye gingerly, he saw Chris stepping out of the room. Looking a little pale from a distance, he searched for Tom with his eyes until he spotted him on the chair and walked at his direction.

From the opposite side of the room, a man who sat on one of the benches rose as well. Chris noticed the man approach him and halted. Somewhat hesitant, Chris extended his arm to the man for a hand shake.

“Howard, Mark has my number. If I can be of any help, don’t hesitate and call me at any hour. I will try to visit again soon enough. “

The man named Howard nodded and thanked Chris with a smile.

Chris returned his hand to his pocket, and Tom looked closely at their exchange, trying to discern Chris's mood. From a distance, Chris appeared to be somewhat embarrassed.

_Who is this man?_

“Alright then, Good night,” Chris said briskly and turned to walk at Tom's direction.

Tom rose to meet him and took Chris’s face. He looked tired and flushed, yet his eyes were quite focused. Despite his curiosity, Tom decided he wouldn't probe too much. For now anyway.

“How did it go?”

Chris pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Considering the given circumstances, I think it went as well as things could go.” He said, then gave Tom both a tired and questioning look.  

“Did you manage to get some rest?”

Tom smirked at him.

“With those graveyard like fluorescent lamps? Of course not.”

Chris chuckled and touched his shoulder.

“Come on, Let’s get out of this place.”

Their walk back to Chris’s car was quiet and pleasant. The night was cool around them, with only the crickets disturbing the silence. Tom enjoyed the fresh air and the scents of the local vegetation. He hoped Chris was enjoying the mild scenery as well.

“Should I drive?” He asked as they approached the car.

Chris looked at him, confused, and took a moment to register his question, as if being torn from some endless thoughts.

“What? No, everything is fine. I'm not tired at all," Chris said, stealing a glance at him, "quite the opposite actually.”

Tom thoroughly doubted that, but didn't put too much argument as he didn't believe himself to be fit enough to hold the wheel anyway.

They entered the car and started driving. The road stretched on and on, and with no flashlights at the roadsides to shed some light, their way appeared pitch dark. The mutual silence continued, becoming somewhat more tense as their ride progressed.

Tom wanted to start a conversation and ease the air between them, yet every thought that crossed his mind as a potential topic for a chat was rather grim and gloomy.

Should he ask about Mark’s condition? Where exactly was the tumor located in his body? Does he know how much time has he left to live? Is he still as charming as he wonderfully was prior to his disease?

Tom snickered despite himself.  

Chris gave him a short look, and Tom caught a small smile displaying on his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just life in general. At seven pm I was still dreaming about the hot bath I was about to have at home, and now look at us. It’s almost one am, I ate some hospital food and I regret that decision to my very soul. It’s so dark outside I can barely see a few feet ahead of the car, and we’re both too tired to drive with two more hours ahead of us to go behind the wheel. It’s just funny.”

Chris laughed out loud and Tom felt his chest warm up to his ears at the sound of it, satisfied with himself for succeeding at lightening up the mood eventually.

“You ate some of their food?”

“Well… A nurse passed me by with her food trolley and caught me sulking about that creepy fluorescent, so she offered me something to eat. I was hungry, so.”

Chris chuckled lightly and shook his head.

“I am sorry you had to be dragged all the way here, Tom.”

“I was not dragged anywhere. I wanted to come, and so I did.”  He said with genuine confidence.

Chris smiled at him warmly.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

"You're welcome," Tom said and lay his head back with a small smile, his arms rubbing against the night chill.

After a few moments he saw Chris reaching an arm to the back seat.  Pulling it back, his hand was holding a small blanket. Wordlessly, he handed it to Tom without tearing his eyes from the road.  

With a silent nod, Tom took the blanket and covered himself. 

He felt quite good.

 

 

\----------

 

Tom opened his eyes as he sensed the car slowing down. He took his surroundings and when he recognized his rented flat’s building at the other side of the road he looked back to Chris in dismay.

“Did I actually sleep through out the entire ride?”

Chris pulled the car to a full stop and rubbed his face. He then turned to Tom, his eyes pinched and squinted, and yawned.

“Hmm. I think so, yes.” he said, his voice sluggish.

Infected by Chris’s yawn, Tom yawned as well. He noticed he was still covered in the blanket Chris had given him.

“Well. That was not a very wise thing to do.”

Chris shrugged and smiled at him drowsily.

“Does it matter? We’re here.”

“Yes. That was quite a field trip.”

Chris watched the road and nodded, his eyes still squinted.

“Thanks again, for everything. I would not have wanted to do this alone.”

Tom hummed with smile. He wasn't all that eager leaving the car. He was feeling quite cozy and warm actually, and he liked the company.

Chris yawned again and rubbed his neck with a sigh.

Tom watched him. He knew Chris’s hotel was located more than half an hour’s drive from his rented flat.

_He shouldn't be driving a car like this._

“Say, why don’t you come up for a few minutes and get refreshed? I have some food upstairs. some good coffee too.”

Chris said nothing, but Tom could see he was fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Come on, don’t be stupid, get some rest before you hit the road again.” he urged.

Chris didn’t respond at first and Tom thought he was about to refuse his invitation, but then he bowed his head and let out a small grunt.

“I’m tired, Tom.” He said very quietly, sadly.  

He’s exhausted, Tom thought. He wanted to comfort him, but he didn't know how, and so he settled for giving a gentle squeeze to Chris's shoulder instead.

“Me too. Come on, you can rest on my couch.”

Chris lifted his head again and looked at the road.

“Yeah, ok, just let me call my wife and tell her I'll be home even later than I had thought I would be,” he said absently and exited the car.

Bidding his warm, comfortable blanket a silent goodbye, Tom exited the car as well.

 

The night chill hit his face as he closed the car's door behind him, but Tom felt warmly satisfied as he followed Chris's figure to his flat.

 

  


\------

  


 

They walked to his flat while Chris made his phone call to Elsa. Tom was surprised she had answered him at all at this late night hour. They climbed the stairs and Tom let them both into the apartment.

As Tom took off his coat, he saw Chris taking his surroundings with curiosity. He looked at the living room, the windows, the hall leading to the bedroom and finally at Tom himself. Catching Tom’s eyes looking at him, Chris huffed a small laugh at him, knowing he was caught ogling the apartment.

“That’s a nice place you have.”

Tom smiled back, how could he not.

“Thanks. Get comfortable, I’ll get us something to drink.”

He returned with two cups, and found Chris sitting on the couch taking off his shoes.

He sat on the other couch and placed the cups on the table.

“How did you find this place?” Chris askd him after a few moments.

“I found nothing. Tiffany had fixed everything in it for me.”

“Tiffany? As in Tiffany from the press relations team?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh, I see.” Chris said with a knowing smile and took his cup from the table.

Tom smirked at him, yet felt his face heat.

“Well, the apartment is lovely, and so is she.” Chris said, draining the entire cup with a single sip.

“Thank you, I am glad you like them both.”

No need to be shy, Tom told himself, yet he rather regretted mentioning her at all. With his fatigue temporarily gone, he lay back on the couch, placed his feet on the edge of the settee  and turned on the television. He felt Chris watching him for a moment, until eventually he got into the same lying position on his own couch.

“Aren’t you going to bed?” Chris asked.

“In a  few. Sometimes I watch some foolishness on TV to get my mind numb and soft for sleeping.”

Chris laughed and Tom smiled cheekily to himself, comfortable again. He actually wanted to stay on the couch a little, and did just so, not intending to fall asleep at all.

\-------

Tom openned his eyes to the sound of a light snore. The televison was still running, yet he had obviously fallen asleep. He shut it down, rose silently to a sitting position and rubbed his face.

The apartment was very dark and quiet, with only a few beams of street lights eeriely spilling into the living room.

He breathed deeply and his eyes closed of themselves, letting images from the previous day run through his mind.

He recalled his frustration at his and Chris’s mutual scene not working out as well as he had liked, then that boy coming over afterwards to Chris and informing him of that blasted phone call from Mark. He remembered Chris smiling, believing this call to be a sign for some good news.

Chris, sitting pale and motionless in his car, confused and alittle shocked after learning the _actuall_   news about his friend.

Himself, feeling a little lost and afraid in that obnoxious hospital hall, alone for an entire hour.

Chris’s both haunted and exhausted look as he finally exited Mark’s room.

He remembered both of them, sitting in the car, Tom feeling sleepy and cold, Chris blowing some warmth into his palms as they talked and laughed on their way back from the hospital.

Tom opened his eyes and looked at the other couch, where Chris was now slumbering. He was lying on his side, his arms folded at his chest and his hair pulled back into a small messy ponytail, chest rising and falling slowly, peacefully. 

He is beautiful.

Tom grinned like a fool, with only the cozy darkness of his flat to witness him.

 _I am glad you are here_ , he mouthed voicelessly into the air.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The water's always changing, always flowing.  
> But people, I guess, can't live like that,  
> We all must pay a price,  
> To be safe, we lose our chance of ever knowing.
> 
>  
> 
> Should I choose the smoothest course?  
> Is all my dreaming at an end?  
> Or do you still wait for me, dream giver?  
> Just around the river bend.
> 
>  
> 
> [Just around the river bend- Pocahontas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DE5a80I8EU)
> 
>  
> 
> *** Oh, I am excited :) ***

At the next day at work, their yesterday’s mediocre scene rolled out perfectly well.

 

As the “Cut!” signal was heard, Tom pulled off his helmet and flashed Chris a mischievous grin.

 

“I must point out that your over night scene-kneading plan has turned out to be a success.” Tom said through his bright smile.

 

How was it possible to appear so lively and wide awake with so few sleeping hours?

Chris thought, and only shook his head at Tom, managing a small, tired smile and a raised eyebrow in return.

 

“I told you, Tommy.”

 

He pulled back the cape he was wearing and asked one of the assistants to fetch him a towel to wipe some sweat from his face.  

 

Actually, he thought, considering the fact that he was exhausted after an almost sleepless night, it was a wonder the scene had worked out at all.

 

After waking up at the middle of the night and finding himself sprawled on a couch and Tom snoozing on the opposite one, it took him more than twenty minutes to drag his arse out of the warm cushions and head home. If he sensed correctly, he even managed not to wake Tom up in the process.

 

Chris stifled a yawn and asked for a break to take some air and try to freshen up.

 

He thought he might have heard Tom saying something to him as he turned to leave, but when he looked over to ask him what it was, he saw the Brit talking to one of the filming supervisors. He must have heard wrong.

 

He walked to an isolated small table with a few chairs around it, picked the shaded one which stood beneath a tree and took his seat. He lowered his face into his palms and closed his eyes, trying to rest.

 

It was futile attempt though, and he knew it. Since he left Tom’s house last night, images and conversation excerpts from his visit to Mark have been practically haunting his thoughts. Words Mark had said, his appearance - thin and skin sunken, all appeared in his mind in a confusing swish.

 

What was it he had said about missing things? Did he say he was being deliberately blind? Chris’s memories were already turning fuzzy.

 

A memory suddenly flashed in his mind’s eye and lingered. It was a memory of one restless night not long before Chris had learned about Mark’s illness. He recalled a haunted dream about a fleeting train and himself searching a way out from a place engulfed in darkness so thick he ended waking up gasping and covered in sweat.

 

Memories of that night swam into his mind, of himself sitting on the couch under the concealment of the night’s shadows, browsing through the pages of a certain book he had bought for his daughter. A book telling of space, of their solar system. He remembered how his curiosity was piqued when he spotted it at the bookshop, how his imagination flared at the images and photos. He remembered himself musing about an old yearning from his earlier years to know about the stars, about space, an ambition to know a little bit of science.

 

Those muses, ambitions - they almost felt like a cruel mockery of himself, but they were real enough. Deep inside, despite knowing himself to be a very moderate student, Chris dreamed of studying, of trying to acquire more education in the academy. He wanted to create something using only his own mind and bare hands.

 

He recalled Mark’s quiet sobs filling the room after revealing the truth about his life altering decisions, about Howard.

 

Mark wanted to _honestly be_.

 

And Chris also wanted… He wanted…

 

“That’s a nice spot. How is it that I haven’t been familiar with it before?”

 

Chris jerked upright as his roaming contemplations and quiet break were abruptly interrupted. Feeling embarrassed as if his thoughts might have been heard or exposed, He cleared his throat and felt his face warm.

 

“Ah, what?”

 

Chuckling, Tom seated himself next to him.

 

“I understand that none of us got enough sleep last night, but you look far more worn out than you should. I’ve come to check up on you.”

 

Chris shook his head and conjured a small smile.

 

“All is fine. I just needed to clear my mind and rest for a moment.”.

 

Tom nodded and… observed him.

 

With the man’s stare feeling too heavy, Chris lowered his eyes and stared at the afternoon’s gentle sunbeams reflecting back from the table’s shiny plastic surface. He was not interested in a small talk at the moment.

 

“Look, the way I see it, yesterday was rather rough on you, so.” Tom said eventually, his lips pursed and fingers drumming on the table.

 

“If you need anything, I’d be happy to help.”

 

At that, Chris let his eyes to drift to Tom’s face.

 

Tom’s bright smile hasn’t faltered since morning and his appearance radiated vitality and elegance. Looking at him, seeing him, Chris couldn’t help but wonder.   

Wonder, as he hasn’t allowed himself to in a very long time, about distant, long unsaught aspirations and instincts.

 

Soon enough, he felt a needling, warm tug in his chest. It was the very same tug he’s been shying away from for a long, long time, and was about to do the same just now.

 

He felt very much like a toddler, one who is unable to think of a sensible reply and as a result his cheeks start to tingle with blush.

 

Cringing inwardly with himself, Chris replied as numbly as one could.

 

“That’s very kind, thank you.”

 

His break was definitely over.

 

Muttering that the time was short and they should head back, Chris rose from his chair, stretched his limbs with a grunt, and started walking back to the filming zone. After a few strides, Tom caught up with him with a muffled yeah. Chris sneaked a glance at him, saw his confused expression and sighed tiredly.

 

“Come on Tom, Let me buy us some lunch.”

 

 

 

\----------------------

 

 

 

 

“Alright Tom, that would be it. Thank you very much.”

 

“You’re welcome, it was a pleasure”, Tom said and shook the interviewer’s hand with a smile.

 

The rest of the staff started packing up their shooting and COM equipment as this was everyone’s last interview for the day. He asked one of the local staff’s representative where he could find something hot to drink and looked out the window. It was a cold and rainy day outside and his palms felt ice cold again.

 

“There you go Tom.”

 

Tom turned around and saw Tiffany, holding out a hot beverage for him with a bright smile on her face.

 

“Tiff! How did you… How do you always know how to get these things?  Thank you...I hope this didn’t trouble you too much. I never know where they keep the coffee.” He said, trying to mask his mild alarm over her rushed response to his request. He gave her his best smile none the less.

 

She laughed and handed him the warm cup.

 

“It’s never a trouble. Not for you anyway.”

 

 _Huh_ , Tom thought and worried his lip.

 

“So… What did you think? Did it go well?”

 

She beamed at him and put her hand on his arm.

 

“It was great, Gina loved you. You know you have your way with those reporters Tom.”

 

Tom giggled shyly at that and pinched his nose . Why did he sometimes feel like a child when they talked to each other?

 

“That’s nice of you to say so, but I am mostly glad that you’re happy with it.”

 

The last of the interview team closed the door behind him and both of them were left alone in the room. Tiffany gave his shoulder a final squeeze and lowered her arm back.

 

“So. How’s the apartment? Are you enjoying yourself?”

 

“Oh...It’s wonderful, honestly. People ask me how I came by it in such a short notice and I tell them it was your magic.”

 

She smiled at him, clearly pleased, yet her eyes were still expectant.

 

Should he ask her to come for a visit? Did he want to? He wasn’t sure.

 

Indeed, he felt awkward. There was only one graceful way out of the situation he could think of, and he had already considered the option anyway, so...

 

“Let me get things even between us. Would you like to have some dinner sometime?”

 

_Smooth and sharp Thomas, smooth and sharp. Oh yes, Definitely._

 

White perfect teeth shining through an inviting smile, she pushed her hair behind her ear and put her finger to her lips.

 

“That would be great, but I have this other idea actually. -”

 

She didn’t wait for his response, that clever girl.

 

“My birthday is exactly three weeks away. I thought… Maybe we can celebrate in your place? Perhaps we could invite some people from our team, Aiden and Sean from the sound staff, Mira and Lyn from the custom department.. You know, the fun people. And oh, Chris of course.”

 

Tom blinked at her. He felt somewhat overwhelmed, but the sensation quickly died out. It wasn’t such a bad idea really, coming to think of it. The flat was rather spacious and spending a friendly evening with the local guys and maybe even Chris, sounded like a refreshing idea, only that he wasn’t sure how to-

 

“I’ll take care of everything of course, the food, the drinks, the music, inviting people… everything. What do you say?”

  
He couldn't help but laugh at her quick wit and both sneaky and friendly attitude. At the moment, he decided, he liked it just sufficiently to say yes.

 

 

 

 

 

\----------------

 

 

 

 

 

Tiffany hugged him one more time and kissed his cheek before they parted ways in the hall.

 

With the day’s interviews done and over with, he was about to head home. As he walked towards the exit, He heard the rain tapping furiously on the building’s windows and pulled his jacked tighter around himself.

 

His cell phone rang. It was his taxi driver, informing him he is stuck in traffic caused by the heavy rain. Thirty minutes delay, he announced.

 

Tom sighed unhappily and leaned on the wall near by the building’s entrance, watching the rain drops trailing down the glass doors.

 

“Tom?”

 

Tom turned around and broke into a giddy smile. He couldn’t help himself.

 

“Chris? Aren’t you supposed to be at the Cinema Today complex?”

 

“They had postponed everything because of the rain and so I was summoned here instead. I didn’t know you were here today.”

 

They chatted for a few moments, exchanging information about the day’s interviews and laughing about some awkward questions and overly enthusiastic reporters. When their conversation wore out they turned to watch the rain storming outside.

 

“Are you waiting for someone?” Chris asked finally.

 

“My cabbie. He got stuck in the rain and traffic. He’ll be here in twenty minutes or so.”

 

Chris gave him one of his pensive looks, then turned to look the rain again.

 

“I got my car here. I can take you home if you like.”

 

Tom frowned in confusion, yet felt his insides warm up with contentment.

 

“Don’t you guys live in the other side of the city?”

 

“What does it have to do with anything?” Chris asked, non pulsed.

 

“Won’t you be late for home or anything? I mean… “ Tom asked but trailed off mid sentence, immediately reluctant to approach too personal matters.

 

“Not if we leave now. Come on. The weather will only get worse at this rate and I don’t think that cabbie of yours will get here for the next hour.”

 

Chris turned to go and watched him with a questioning gaze, his eyes looking almost eager.

 

Tom chuckled and willingly followed him, quietly happy with the unexpected turn of events.

 

Something has changed in Chris, he heard a small voice whisper in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. He shouldn't ponder about it too much, he told himself. Not when he privately enjoyed being gently caressed with Chris’s reserved, timid attention.

 

They drove in their usual comfortable silence to Tom’s apartment. As they neared the apartment, Tom toyed with the idea of inviting Chris in again as he did two weeks prior when they came back from that field trip to the hospital. He dismissed the notion immediately though, feeling the right moment for it had come and gone with their unforgettable over night journey.

 

Although… there was something else Tom could invite Chris to, he suddenly remembered.

 

“Chris. There’s going to be a... party, as it turns out, in my apartment, three weeks from today. You should come.”

 

Chris’s eyebrows rose with surprise.

 

“A party? What are you celebrating? Isn't it too soon for your birthday?”

 

“Not mine. Tiffany’s, actually. I offered her a generous thank-you dinner for her help with finding the flat, but instead she came up with this idea of celebrating her birthday in my place, and apparently, I agreed.”

 

Chris frowned a little, appearing to be mulling the information in his head.

 

“Tiffany’s birthday.” He said finally, then chuckled.

 

Tom ran his hand over his jaw, joining Chris’s chuckle and feeling bashful again. _But why? Why should I be reserved about her? She’s no different from anyone else._

 

“I hardly know her. Are you sure I am invited?”

 

“Oh come on, It’s just something small, with some good, friendly people we know from the set. It’ll be fun, and food and drinks are on me. “

 

Chris scratched his chin, still looking amused.

 

“I’ll… do my best to show up.”

 

Tom wanted to push a little further, to try and convince him to come, but decided against it. It was up to Chris.

 

They drove for a little longer, until Chris pulled the car next to Tom’s apartment.

 

“Isn’t this bad weather supposed to last through tomorrow as well?” Chris asked, peering outside through his car’s dripping windows.

 

Tom thought it would and he said so.

 

“Hmm. I can drive you home tomorrow as well then. ”, Chris said, running his hand through his hair.

 

“If you like, that is.” He added with a quiet nod.

 

Tom stifled a fervent laugh from breaking out of his mouth. He smiled broadly without looking at Chris and turned to unbuckle his the seat belt, trying to hide his childish cheer.

 

_You’re an idiot, Tom._

 

“Well, I can’t refuse a ride home, can I.”

 

Chris glanced at him and nodded again with a small smile.

 

“Alright then. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. Let me know if there’s any change in plans.”

 

 _There won’t be_ , Tom thought, and called his cabbie to cancel his next day’s ride home as he climbed the stairs to his flat.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know zero about the entertainment industry, or how a film is actually made in magical Hollywood. Therefore, I hope you'll be able to forgive my inaccuracies along with some related vague descriptions and simply roll with the story :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance - this chapter is a bit short. I will update the next chapter which is much longer as soon as possible.
> 
> Enjoy :)

"Chris, can you come over here for a minute? I want you to see this.”

 

Chris nodded and walked over to Rodney, their director, crossed his arms over his chest and watched the replay of the scene together with him through the camera’s small player.

 

Tom removed his Loki helmet, observed the two men for a moment, then asked for a glass of water from one of the staff members.

 

So. Chris is quiet today, he thought. They've barely exchanged more than a few customary pleasantries today, no more.

 

Though being friendly and almost constantly easygoing, Chris has never been much of a talker, but this recent _pensiveness_ of him did manage to get under Tom's skin and pick on his curiosity too many times for him to remain indifferent.

 

They've seemed to grow a little closer recently, which was pleasant enough, but despite that, Tom could not interpret the man’s just beneath the surface mood swings, and that only got him more twitchy about the whole business. What was going on in that pretty blond's head?  He contemplated sneaking a nonchalant question about the topic during the next chance he'll get, perhaps when Chris might give him another ride home, but Tom was never sure about this.  He was never too happy prying into matters too sensitive with Chris.

 

When Chris returned to his standing point next to him without saying as much as a word, Tom flicked his eyes over the man's blank face and felt his resolve dwindle. Despite his aloofness, Chris looked good today, his thoughtfulness making his eyes shine, and Tom wanted to turn his cheek, feeling thirsty for some attention.

 

“I’m going to get myself some overly expensive yet bland and off-color coffee from that new fancy beverages stool they’ve just opened across the street. Would you like to join me?”

 

Chris didn’t look him and rearranged his suit.

 

“Not really, no.”

 

That irked him. It really did. The words just kept flowing out of his mouth, but at least he had the grace to smile while they did.

 

"Oh come now, What's with the long face? Do you still insist on keeping that bad habit of yours of not getting a proper beauty sleep at night?"

 

Chris furrowed his eyebrows at him, a sharp ‘what?’ leaving his lips, and for a moment Tom sensed he had accidently guessed it just right, hitting just the sour spot.

 

“Tom, do me a favor and get off my back will you? Let’s just get this shot over with.”, he replied in a clipped, tad louder than normal tone and said nothing more.

 

A few people turned their heads at their banter, looking confused.

 

Tom didn’t like the audience, nor the bitter sensation that washed over him at the harsh reply. Wind knocked out of his sails for now, he let it go.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

They had finished their shooting early that day, just as the sun was about to set.

 

Inside his changing room, Tom was tying his shoelaces and preparing to go to his flat.

 

He was pulling his bag over his back when he heard a knock on his room’s door.

 

Answering the knock on his way out, he opened the door and saw Chris.

 

Still a little miffed at their earlier cool exchanged, he put his hands to his pockets and gave Chris a bland look.

 

“What’s up?” Tom asked, his tone dull on purpose.

 

Chris was wearing his cap with his bag slung behind his back, probably also on his way home.

 

“You’re on your way out aren’t you? Come on, I’ll go with you.”

 

Go where?, Tom thought, but did not ask. He was done with questions for today. Instead he only shrugged, collected the rest of his things and exited the room, locking the door behind him. He turned to go and Chris followed his steps.

 

They walked quietly to the shooting’s zone back entrance, the sound of their steps echoing strangely loud to Tom’s ears. Not in the mood to say anything, he did not initiate any conversation.

 

“I didn’t mean to be rude earlier.”, Chris finally said when they exited the shooting zone, out of other people’s earshot.

 

“I am sorry for that.” He added quietly.

 

Tom did not reply, but felt something ease and warm up within his chest, that heavy knot inside him slowly untangling. Instead of that knot, as if immediately reacting to Chris's proximity and soft words, bloomed this by now familiar, compressed delight within his belly.

 

He chided himself, for only a handful of simple words from that man's mouth managed to mold his resentment back into this odd, tender sentiment for Chris.

 

His mouth curve uncontrollably into a small smile.

 

“You're an annoying prat, but I'm willing to look past it this time”, Tom said.

 

“Good, that's good.” Chris replied, not taking the bait this time.

 

They continued walking until they reached the passage leading them to the street when Chris suddenly halted. Seeing Chris’s rented car parking across the road, Tom stopped as well and looked at him.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

 

Chris did not reply at first, but kept his gaze on the street and only rubbed his jaw with his palm, appearing to be considering something.

 

“Actually I thought….You know what? I know this is a last minute change and all, but… There’s a good basketball match today, featuring Australia’s team, mind you, and I know this really nice pub where they show the game on a screen. They have some great food, good beer.”

 

Tom blinked at him, slowly taking in the sudden change of subject.

 

Chris’s fingers were insistently kneading his chin then moving to swipe over his stubble as he seemed to gauge Tom’s reaction. His brows furrowed a little and he eventually lowered his hand back to it’s place.

 

“Do you want to go? We can drive straight from here, and of course, I’ll take you back home when the game is over.”

 

Tom couldn’t help himself as a grin spread over his face and a chuckle escaped his lips.

 

Chris cocked his head at him.

 

“Does this daft smile mean you’re coming or are you actually laughing at me?”

 

Tom let out a sharp laugh and bit his lip. This was unbelievable. Absently he wondered if Chris had planned this ahead, or was this invitation a spontaneous result of today’s Chris’s strange behavior.

 

Many thoughts hurried through his mind, but above all things, for some reason, he felt _lucky_.

 

Also, he recalled he had a made few plans for tonight, with taking a bubble bath and calling Tiffany being two out of not so many plans he’d made, but when he actually considered all those plans and sensed his heart beat slightly faster than usual at the sudden offer, and he knew exactly where and with whom he prefered to be.

 

“Well? The game starts in an hour. What do you say?”, Chris urged him, his eyes gleaming expectantly.

 

 _Lucky. Lucky and hopeless_ , Tom thought.

 

He squeezed Chris’s shoulder then pushed him back playfully, and turned to go.

 

“Drinks are on you, my sweet friend. Let’s go.”

 

\------

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You sit around getting older,  
> there's a joke here somewhere and it's on me.
> 
> I'll shake this world off my shoulders,  
> come on baby the laugh's on me.
> 
> Stay on the streets of this town,  
> and they'll be carving you up alright.
> 
> They say you got to stay hungry, oh baby,  
> I'm just about starving tonight.
> 
> I'm dying for some action,  
> I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book.
> 
> I need a love reaction,  
> come on baby, give me just one look.
> 
> You can't start a fire, worryin' about your little world falling apart...  
> This gun's for hire,  
> even if we're just dancing in the dark.
> 
>  
> 
> [Dancing in the dark - Bruce Springsteen (Cover)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofVoNL6jnd4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,  
> I hope you will enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

 

The sun was about to set as they started driving, it’s orange and pinkish rays shining through the clouds.

 

According to Chris, the drive to the pub should take no more than half an hour at this time of the day. Luke, Chris’s brother, had found out about the place and told Chris it’s a quiet, cozy place, hidden from cameras, gossip reporters and other types of unwelcome professionals. Luke was also impressed with their food and good wine.

 

“Good”, Tom said to that. “I’m definitely hungry.”

 

Chris hummed in satisfaction, then asked Tom to get him his sunglasses from the car’s glove box.

 

Tom reached into the glove box, pulled the sunglasses and handed them to Chris. As he reached back to close back the box’s lid, he noticed a slightly wrinkled paper note inside it, with an address scribbled on it. It was Wolfson’s hospital address, a floor level and a room number.

 

The address looked oddly familiar, and after some quick memory-crunching in his head, Tom recognized it as the address of the hospital he and Chris had visited together not so long ago.

 

He glanced at the note for a moment longer, then pushed the box’s lid back to it’s place.

 

Chris’s sick friend was hospitalized there… Mark. His name was Mark.

 

It was only a hunch, but Tom was willing to bet more than a dime that this man’s sickness has  hit Chris pretty close to home.

 

And what’s more, it was that Chris hadn’t said a single word about the subject since their mutual trip to said hospital.

 

It was annoyingly disappointing.

 

“Why so serious?”, Chris asked, pulling Tom back from his semi-sulking thoughts.  
  


Tom pressed his tongue to his teeth. He had to ask.

 

“I was just thinking. Have you spoken to that friend of yours since we had visited him? Mark, was that his name?”

 

Chris’s brows furrowed a little and he let out a breath through his nose.

 

“Hmm. Actually, I paid him another visit yesterday night.”

 

Tom nodded slowly.

 

“How is he doing?”

 

Chris drummed his fingers on the stirring wheel and sighed.

 

“I don’t know Tom, I don’t know. He’s hanging in there I suppose.”

 

Chris’s helplessness was obvious, and so was his sorrow, yet Tom remained at a loss for words. He very much wanted to comfort him, but again, did not know how. He refused to try and butter Chris up with some vacant assurances of Mark’s recovery, and instead settled on quiet nodding as his thoughts wandered on, his eyes drinking the sun’s last blood red rays disappearing beyond the horizon.

 

Was yesterday’s visit to his friend the reason for the edgy behavior Chris displayed earlier today? The importance of their own mutual visit to the hospital was not lost on Tom, and his memory of Chris’s rattled look after leaving Mark’s room was vivid enough.

 

“You know”, Chris suddenly said.

 

“Mark kept saying these words, this phrase to me, telling me over and over that I should remember it always.”

 

Shrugging his contemplations away, Tom turned his head, curious.

 

“What phrase is that?”

 

“He said that...that life is short and beautiful, and I didn’t get it at first, thinking it was rather obvious.”

 

He paused and pursed his lips together in thought.

 

“I mean, we do many things we love, we spend good time with people we care about… so, obviously, life is indeed beautiful.  But then, as days went by, It made me think.”

 

Tom sat up straight in his seat, alert and listening intently as Chris seemed to search for the right words. Those were very rare occasions when Chris shared his thoughts, or better yet, his emotions with Tom, and perhaps even with anyone else.

 

“I think...I think that maybe Mark referred to the things we don’t do in life. The things we believe are too difficult to be done, or that we might be scrutinized or condemned for actually doing them.”

 

He glanced at Tom and licked his teeth, looking a little giddy.

 

”I talked too much, didn’t I.”

 

Actually, nothing could be further from the truth, Tom thought. He was eager to listen to so much more from Chris, but felt that saying that would be a little overwhelming for both of them.

 

“Not at all. I’m glad you decided to share it with me.” Tom said as a calculated compromise.

 

“And I am glad you said you’re hungry, because we’re almost there.” Chris said, looking relieved.

  
  


 

 

\----------

  
  


 

 

Tom stood outside the pub, breathing some warm air into his icy palms, waiting for Chris to finish parking the car.

 

“Let’s get inside.”, Chris said as he finally approached him, then pushed the door open and let Tom enter first.

 

They took off their coats and heavy jackets, hanged them nearby the entrance, and Tom sighed in relief to finally be able to shed off some of his work clothes.

 

After crossing the entrance small room and entering the main hall, he turned around and took his surroundings.

 

The pub was located in a small suburb nearby the city, looking small and even a little crummy from the outside, yet its interior turned out to be spacious and lavishly designed.

 

They were very few people inside, a little more than a handful, along with some cheesy music playing at the background which suited Tom just fine. The place really did feel quiet and cozy, just as Chris said it would.

 

“How’s that table over there?”, Chris asked him and pointed to the far left corner of the pub, where Tom could see a small table, angled exactly towards the big white screen which was placed at the center of the pub, nearby the bar.

 

Tom followed Chris's pointed direction and nodded his consent, letting Chris lead them both to their selected table. They took their seats side by side, both facing the white screen.

 

Feeling hungry and generous with himself, Tom picked the most expensive dish in the menu as a main course, in addition to an exaggerated appetizer with flashy words in it’s title that got him curious. Claiming that wine was a fool’s errand while watching sports, Chris was reluctant to share a bottle of wine, but he did let Tom pick out the beer for him.

 

As their drinks were served to them first, Chris started asking him some dull questions about work, but Tom did not mind at all and indulged Chris with some useless details about his day. Radiating warmth and an especially friendly mood, Chris did not disappoint, and eventually yielded and laughed continuously from Tom’s mangy puns and jests.

 

The food arrived just as the game began. It was not long before Chris, by then already a little tipsy and filled with cheer and pride, grabbed Tom’s shoulder and pointed at the screen as he explained the dramatic, profound meaning of the game to the kingdom of Australia along with naming the most important players in the team. Tom failed miserably at his attempts for attentive listening, practically laughing in Chris's face as he was not-so-gently swayed by Chris’s arm and witnessed his loyal enthusiasm for his homeland team.

 

Halfway into the game, Tom finished his food and sat back, rubbing his satisfied belly with one hand and the other one holding what remained of his wine. Sated and happy, and with Chris’s senses all absorbed in the game, Tom allowed his eyes be drawn to his friend’s frame as he scarcely let himself do. He was pleasantly reminded of the blue shade of his eyes, took in his strong jaw and readily drank his genuine laughter and cheering.

 

Tom took an especially large sip from his wine and smiled. The man was truly beautiful, with only his kind heart and rich mind to suppress his external grace with glamour of their own.

 

His eyes closed of their own accord and a deep breath came out of his nose as he recalled the recent, unusual time slots they got to spend together lately, along with Chris’s occasional coy attentions, such as driving Tom home in the rainy evenings and the current unpredictable invitation for that very evening they were sharing together, alone even, in the pub.

 

Hand in hand with the pleasure delivered with every single moment of these occasions, walked a sensation of crude warning, reminding Tom over and over that prodding a brick wall with his bare fists will only leave him breathless and bloody.

 

But something has changed, that little voice insisted, whispering to him again, and he felt his throat constrict with something akin to dread.

 

“Hey.”

 

His eyes fluttered open and he found Chris regarding him with his hands folded over his chest.

 

“Are you ok?”

 

“Yes, yes I am. The wine got to me.” He said with a mostly genuine smile.

 

Chris wasn’t convinced.

 

“Do you need anything?”

 

_Smack me. Smack me straight on the head._

 

“Would be nice to see you go maniacal again if your mighty kingdom wins the game. Good laughs."

 

“When it wins the game”, Chris murmured and grinned, letting Tom grant himself an additional triumphant score for another grin well earned from the man.  

 

A few minutes had passed in silence between them as the game continued.

 

Tom was nursing the last sips of his wine as the game broadcast broke into what apparently was the last break for commercials.

 

“Tom.” Chris said and Tom turned to look at him again.

 

With his arms now folded over the table, Chris was looking at him with what seemed to be some sort of curiosity. His eyes were having a slight tinge of red to them, revealing his tipsiness.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Your hair. Did you cut it short recently? Like a new hair cut?”

 

With both brows arched, Tom Irrationally ran his hand through his hair, as if making sure it was still there, correctly attached to his scalp.

 

“Cut it short? What do you mean?”

 

“Didn’t You use to have those curls that reached your ears?”

 

A smirk slowly spread onto Tom’s face.

 

“Ah, well, In that case, yes, you’re quite right. I cut it short more than a year ago.”

 

Chris leaned back in his chair, flushing.

 

“A year ago? Well, I thought...uh, forget it.”

 

Tom emptied his glass into his mouth with a flourish motion and laughed out loud, feeling his stomach pleasantly warm up with the thick liquid.

 

“You’ve been waiting a long time to tell me you don’t like my haircut, have you.”

 

Chris stretched his neck from side to side and bared his teeth, obviously having a hard time fighting off his own giddiness.

 

“No, you prat. I actually thought that it looked better this way, short, that is.”

 

“Why, thank you.” Tom said between his snickers. That was an odd, clumsy compliment to make, he mused, but he liked it anyway. Chris was laughing openly by then, his face crimson red, muttering that Tom should stop interrupting him from watching the end of the game with his nonsense.

 

 

 

\--------

 

 

 

The last minutes of the game kept them both on the edge with the Australian team leading by only two points ahead of the second team. Chris was practically biting his nails off and muttering curses and unintelligible orders towards the screen.

 

“Wait for it...Wait for it... No! He was standing right behind you, you idiot! Just...No!”

 

As far as basketball games went, that game, like many others, was decided just towards its end, when one of the Australian players managed to shoot a long range ball right through the hoop, earning him a dramatic three point shot which sealed the game with Australia winning it.

 

Chris threw his hands in the air and howled with laughter and cheers which echoed noisily through the almost empty pub. Tom did not bother concealing his amusement anymore and barked out a laugh at the little scene Chris was making, then choked on his breath when he felt a large hand falling on his shoulder and squeezing it almost painfully.

 

“All hail Australia!”, Chris exclaimed for the final time and released Tom’s shoulder. With a large grin on his face, he drained the rest of his large water pint and excused himself to the loo right away, claiming he was about to try and drain most of the alcohol out of his system.

 

Interestingly enough, he really did look very much sober and refreshed when he returned and took his seat next to Tom.

 

“Do you want anything else or can I ask for the bill?”

 

Tom told him he was full and Chris gestured the waitress for the bill.

 

He was just pulling a few notes from his wallet when he saw Chris placing his credit card in the waitress’s hand and sending her away. Tom stopped in his tracks and stared at him.

 

“Did you just pay for both of us?”

 

“I did. Is something wrong with that?” Chris said in a both clipped and languid tone while looking at him straight in the eyes, as if challenging Tom to defy him.

 

Tom felt the air around him change immediately into something thicker and his belly twisted…. with flattery. He was flattered. Since his teenage years Tom had always been the one to leisurely pay for the ladies he had taken out, or be it mates he sometimes rewarded with a round of drinks after a bet ending the wrong way for him. It felt different, being at the receiving side of the gesture.

 

And right there and then, sitting alongside Chris in the table, it dared feeling intimate.

 

_Intimate._

 

The notion grated his nerves.

 

Tom braced his most wicked grin, sensing it was his best answer for Chris’s challenge at the moment.

 

“Well, had I known you were about to turn out as such a generous dolt, I wouldn’t have ordered the most expensive courses in the menu.”

 

Chris only smirked at him as he pushed back his chair, stood up and stretched his limbs.

 

“I’ll ask Elsa to cut down on the food for the family this month. Come on, I’m exhausted.”

 

Tom chuckled darkly and bristled at Chris’s back as they walked to the pub’s exit.

 

“Next time is on me then.”

 

Chris only continued to smirk as he handed Tom his coat.

 

“I’ll make sure to order plain soda and a piece of bread with some butter then.”

 

They both laughed while wearing their coats, and already sensing the night’s chill -  Tom shoved his hands into this pockets.

 

“Better aim for some bananas and peanuts, you ape.”

 

Chris laughed harder at this, opened the door and gestured Tom to exit first.

 

It was cold and foggy outside and Tom missed his warm bed instantly.

He heard Chris shut the door behind him and waited.

 

“Come, the car is this way.”

 

It was only a brief touch meant to guide him to walk forward, but Tom felt Chris’s palm land on his lower back altogether and blinked rapidly at the sensation.

 

They’ve been colleagues and friends for a few years by now, and they have playfully posed to the cameras in numerous ways, including hugs and even a few pecks to the cheek initiated by Tom himself, but this… This small pat to his back felt different, as if not guiding, but coaxing him like a honey trap.

 

Urging himself back to his senses, he walked next to Chris without making any further comments, wanting to enjoy their evening to the fullest and not let confusing sensations shake his good mood.

 

Their drive to Tom’s flat was pleasant and peaceful, with Chris telling him more about how he and his brothers used sneak into the nearest sports arenas in their youth in order to see the national Australian basketball team play and practise.

 

“You guys had probably got caught more than once with you being such a slow runner.”

 

Chris snorted at him, but did not deny his statement, which made Tom snigger in amusement. This is fun, he thought.

 

Chris’s cell phone rang shortly after. It was his wife, asking him when will he get home. He told her casually that he was just driving Tom back to his flat and that afterwards he’ll be on his way home. They’ve exchanged a few more words which Tom didn’t bother listening to, but the conversation sounded peaceful enough in a whole and he was glad Elsa didn’t give Chris trouble for having a night out without her.

 

With Chris already remembering the way to Tom’s flat by heart, they arrived at their destination quickly and without any GPS to nudge them over and over through the ride.

 

Chris stopped the car in front of Tom’s building, bowed his head a little and nodded once, then smiled.

 

“I’m glad you joined me on such a short notice, It was great.”

 

Tom laughed and bit his lip. He wanted to lean over and kiss Chris’s cheek as a jest, invite him upstairs for a very stiff drink, but kept himself in place for he knew that none of those would be meant as a jest at all.

 

_This was not a bloody date._

 

“Trust me, it was my pleasure.”

 

He opened the car’s door and halted for a moment, suddenly reminded of something.

 

“The party in my place, it will take place next Friday. You’re my guest of honor and I shall be very delighted to see you, should you decide show up. No pressure, of course.” He added the latter with a smirk.

 

Chris turned to watch the road and nodded, still smiling.

 

“Like I said Tommy, I’ll do my best to show up.”

 

On a whim, Tom reached to pat Chris’s shoulder and squeezed his fingers into it. Even through his thick coat, Tom felt Chris’s warmth and let himself soak in it for the shortest moment.

 

“Good night Chris.”

 

“Good night, Tom.”

 

Tom stepped back slowly, watching Chris’s car edging away from the corner of his eye.

 

The night was cool and quiet with no one else but him walking down the street.

 

The small smile he wore did not fade away until much later, still gracing his lips as he was lying in bed, eyes wide open into the dark, his blood flowing too warmly in his veins to allow him to fall asleep.

 

_Coaxing, like a honey trap._

 

 

\--------------

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Embrace me, surround me, as the rush comes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oBRgXtyKeE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are mine.

“So what do you say, I’ll show up around six pm, how’s that?”

 

“Hmm… Agreed. I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

“Great, Tom - I am so excited we’re doing this… Honestly, I couldn’t  ask for a better way to celebrate my birthday.”

 

Tom smiled and readjusted his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder.

 

Tiffany’s birthday party was about to take place a few hours later that night. She called him a few minutes ago, settling down the last details with him and being true to her word to ‘take care of everything’ - asked him to show up two hours before the rest of the guests in order to prepare Tom’s apartment for the party.

 

The idea made Tom feels a little uncomfortable at first, but as Tiffany started listing the required arrangements needed to be done in the flat to be ready for the occasion, Tom understood fairly well that indeed, Tiffany would make things much easier for him in terms of prepping the apartment for party use.

 

“Yea, I’m even a little excited myself. It’ll be fun.”

 

He even bought her a fancy little bottle of a perfume he deemed nice enough as a small birthday present.

 

“Did you invite many friends of your own?”

 

Tom sighed dramatically.

 

“Not so many. You’ve spoken to everyone before I’ve had the chance really. So Sam and Chris are the only people from my own side of the family.”

 

He wasn't sure Chris would show up at all, though. He hasn’t seen the man for the last few days as each of them was required in a different filming location outside the city. The last time they saw each other was that game they had watched together in the pub the previous week.

 

Tom tried calling him earlier that day in order to give him a short reminder about the party but got no answer. He left him a text message as a last attempt and hoped for the best.

 

So far though, he got no reply.

 

“Sam and Chris. Alright then.”

 

They chatted a little more, about work and other everyday topics.

 

She is a nice girl, Tom thought idly and yawned. And she’s pretty too.

 

“Tiff sweetheart, I think I’m going to try and catch a nap before all this adventurous party business begins throwing chaos here in the flat. Call me when you leave your house on your way here, alright?”

 

“Yes ok, don’t forget - I’ll be heading your way at six. I’m going to get some girl business done here on my part, I don’t want to get you all jealous so I’ll spare you the details.”

 

Tom chuckled.

 

“Oh Tiff, are you excited or are you excited…”

 

“More than you know. I’ll see you later Tom.”

 

He glanced at his cellphone’s screen as he ended the call and saw that a new message had been received during his conversation with Tiffany.

 

Reading the message quickly, Tom saw it was from Chris, apologizing for not answering his call today and saying he is not sure whether he will show up for the party tonight.

 

Tom threw his head back on the cushions and bit his lip in disappointment. The bastard.

 

Contemplating his reply, Tom decided to use every appealing excuse he could think of which might draw Chris over, even if it’s for only a few minutes of coquettish, belly warming banter.

 

Eventually, he wrote back that Chris’s favorite English beer would be waiting for him in the fridge anyway.

 

He meant to spring upon Chris with that beer as a surprise treat, but abandoned the idea and decided to use it as his best weapon to draw him near.

 

When he awoke from his light slumber on the couch an hour later, he squinted at his cell phone, hoping to find a reply waiting for him, or even a missed call that somehow went by, but found none.

 

 

 

 

 

\------

 

 

 

 

 

“So, what do you think?”

 

Tom eyes his flat. The settees have been rearranged, extra chairs were placed in a socially-strategic form, a large table stood nearby, offering some surprisingly appealing appetizers, pasta and salads along with wine, beer and champagne bottles standing at the middle of it.  The living room is filled with people at the moment, most of them happily chatting and having their fill of alcohol and food. Some nice music is played at the background, not too loud and not too quiet, just to Tom's taste.

 

He returns to look at Tiffany who is standing in front of him, waiting for an answer.

She is wearing a classic black dress, nicely fitting her well-defined curves, her lips dyed deep red and her delicate palm holding a glass of bubbling champagne to complete the picture. She looks fantastic.

 

“Everything looks great. You did an amazing job preparing the place. “ He tells her with a smile and means it. He wouldn't have managed to do half of the preparations she had done to his flat in order to make it presentable for the party even if he wanted to.  

 

She returns his smile with a large grin of her own and reaches out to touch his forearm.

 

“None of this would have happened without your consent to lend your apartment for this occasion. I am having so much fun… I hope you are enjoying yourself as well.”

 

He smiles at her, showing his teeth.

 

“Oh, I am having a good time, darling. No worries.”

 

He _is_ having a good time, he really is. He is quite happy for the chance for further socializing with the guys and all in all, a friendly night with some friendly chaps is always a good idea to break the daily routine of work and travels.

 

It’s just that… Someone is missing and It’s gnawing on Tom’s nerves. The guests had all been invited for eight pm. Tom has not heard from Chris since that single vague message from earlier and by now it was already five minute past ten. If he’s not planning to show up, why won’t he at least write a message and be done with it? That selfish halfwit.

 

 _Stop pining over him like a squishy teen_ , he hears his smarter half resent his moping.

 

_He’s married. He’s a *man* for pity' sake._

 

Muttering under his breath, Tom shakes his head and tries to get into the party’s mood. He will enjoy this night, he tells himself as he swallows a shot of some not-so-fine whiskey, then immediately dives into a mindless chatter with some of the guests.

 

At some later point, Tiffany seats herself next to him. She leans close to his ear, whispering something Tom cannot hear above the music, but he nods anyway for good measure.

 

The background music stops suddenly, and both of them turn their attention to the center of the living room, where one of Tiffany’s friends, Anna, he thinks that’s her name, is standing and looking at Tiffany with a wide smile.

 

“Tiffany, sweetheart, we’ve prepared something small for you.”

 

Anna turns to the kitchen and calls out to someone who is apparently waiting there for her call. Another one of Tiffany’s friends, whose name Tom cannot recall, comes out of the kitchen, holding a large, fancy looking birthday cake shining with candles.

 

Tiffany cups her palms over her mouth and gasps with joy and surprise. She stands up and walks to hug her friend. The guests rejoice with her and everyone springs into a collective birthday song. Tom joins their singing and smiles fondly at Tiffany, who seems to be overjoyed beyond measure.

  
He hears the doorbell ring behind him and instantly sneaks a peek to the door, only to recognize a few more colleagues entering the flat, all apologizing for being late.

 

_Oh, Bugger it all._

 

He turns his attention back to Tiffany and friends, who have already finished their singing and started cutting the cake. Tiffany cuts a fine share, places it on a plastic plate, and walks over to Tom with a smile. Tom returns her smile, takes the plate from her hand and hugs her.

 

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

 

Tiffany buries her face in the crook of his neck and returns a fierce hug.

 

“Thanks, Tom.”

 

She releases him slowly, but instead of looking at him, she place a quick yet somehow prolonged kiss just below his ear. Tom lets out a small startled laugh but says nothing. He pulls her shoulders so they can face each other and thinks of something smooth to say when the doorbell rings again.

 

Any words he might have planned to say die on his lips as a prickling sensation spreads from his nape to his chest, making the little hairs on the back of his neck rise. It can’t be him, he argues with himself. He’s not coming, leave it.

 

But he can’t leave it. He has to know who it is even if it makes the disappointment bite even deeper into his skin.

 

With Tiffany sill looking at him, he turns around towards the door. The bell rings again, and he’s just about to rush to the door like a curious pet as one of the guests opens it instead, which causes Tom to remain still and only stare dumbly at the flat’s entrance.

 

The guest who opened the door smiles and shakes the newcomer’s hand, keeping him hidden from sight behind the open door. They seem to exchange a few words during which Tom feels like an utter fool, gazing at them and saying nothing to Tiffany who has followed his attention and is now watching the entrance with him.

 

Finally, the guest gestures the newcomer to enter the apartment and the door closes, revealing a tall figure entering the apartment, obscured behind other guests crowding the door’s area.

 

Tom’s breath hitches in his throat. He will recognize this dark blond head anywhere. It is him.

 

“Chris!”, He hears Tiffany cry out and sees her walking at Chris’s direction, making her way through the crowd.

 

Tom is momentarily rooted to the floor as sweet lightheartedness washes over his limbs and bones, feeling every ounce of his previous resentment quickly fade into nothing. He’s here.

 

He tries to recover and starts walking towards Chris, his legs feeling both heavy and light at the same time.

 

As he approaches them, he watches Chris and Tiffany exchange their welcome, seeing Tiffany looking elated as Chris hands her a small bouquet of flowers and a small gift bag with it.

 

Bloody hell, the man is a walking heartthrob, Tom thinks with a dark smirk spreading on his face.

 

“Oh Chris, they’re lovely!”, she exclaims and pulls him into a quick hug. They part and Chris nods timidly at her, a small smile playing on his lips and a tinge of red coloring his cheeks.

 

“What, no flowers for me?”

 

Chris turns his head and notices Tom for the first time.

 

“I left the rest of them for the ladies.” Chris says, still keeping that small smile on his lips.

 

Tom wants to hug him. To bring his arms around his neck, ask him for a dance and rest his forehead on his shoulder.

 

“I’m delighted you’ve decided to come eventually.”

 

“Yes, well. I’ve been told there’s some good beer waiting for me in this fine establishment.“

 

_Ah, so you did receive my message then._

 

Anna, Tiffany’s friend, approaches them and grabs her arm. “Come on, spend some time with us!”. Tiffany glances at Tom, gives him an apologetic look and tells him and Chris she’ll be back for some more chatting later.

  
  


They both watch her for a moment, being comically pulled away by her friend, and Tom secretly muses that after a few days without seeing or speaking to each other, he selfishly feels very content to be left alone with Chris.

 

“Come, I’ll get you what you came here for.” he says, then touches Chris’s shoulder and urges him to the kitchen.

 

The kitchen was defined as a secluded zone during the party, and so it is somewhat less erratic than the rest of the flat as they enter it.

 

Tom opens the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles which were hidden at the back of it for special usage such as this. He opens them with a pop, satisfied at the corresponding liquid hissing the bottles produce and turns to hand one of them to Chris.

 

Chris receives the bottle and thanks him quietly. Enjoying the momentary calm and stillness of the small kitchen, they clank the bottles together and drink in silence.

 

Tom, unable to take the stupid smile off his face, leans his shoulder on the wall and pushes one hand into his pocket with the other one still holding the bottle, facing Chris. His mind is strangely empty of things to say, and his smile grows even wider with hilarity against the bottle’s mouth. He’s simply happy.

 

Chris chuckles at him.

 

“I see you are having fun.”

 

Tom actually _giggles_ at him and decides, for once, to hide nothing.

 

“Yes, I am actually. I’m glad to see you.”

 

Chris laughs softly and downcasts his gaze, and Tom quickly searches for something more to say.

 

“Have you noticed how the flat has been rearranged? Tiffany has done some wonders to the apartment in order to see it ready for the party.”

 

Chris nods at him and continues to nourish his beer.

 

“She’s quite the star of the evening I suppose, but I still think it was rather generous of you to allow this whole messy celebration into your flat in the first place. My point is, it’s good to see you are enjoying yourself.”

 

Tom turns his face and catches Chris’s eyes with his own. Now that they are alone, he’s truly able to look at him, and he feels his brows furrow with confusion.

Chris’s shirt beneath his jacket is rumpled, his ponytail is messier than usual, and his face...Tom pauses. The man’s cheeks are flushed, the rims around his eyes sunken and his eyes tinged with red.

 

“Chris, you look like a mess. Is everything ok?”

 

The man's gaze travels to an undefined spot behind Tom and his lips curve into a pursed smile.

 

“I haven’t slept very well during the last few days. Everything is in order, though.”

 

Tom nods, sensing that this is not the time or place to probe deeper with more questions.

 

“Don’t furrow your brows so tightly, it makes you looks like an old hag. I’m-”

 

Chris does not get to finish his sentence when Tiffany enters the kitchen, looking as if she has found exactly what she was searching for.

 

“There you are! Tom, could you - wait, am I interrupting something?”

 

Chris answers first while Tom, more than mildly irritated at the intrusion, is still considering his reply.

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Oh, good. Tom, would you like to join me? We’re having a special toast. Chris, you should come too…”

 

Chris nods at her.

 

“I will, gladly.”

 

“Tom?”

 

Resigned, Tom does his best to hide his impatience.

 

“Of course, m’lady.”

 

Tiffany leads them both to a small circle of friends. They all cheer playfully when they see her. She takes Tom’s hand and lifts her glass.

 

“Dear friends, I think you should all know that without Tom’s agreement we would not have had the chance to have this party. Cheers!”

 

People around them clapped the hands and Tom, managing to swallow his slight inward cringing at the unexpected attention, gives them his best smile. He glances around and catches Chris’s form at the back of the gathering, leaning on the wall and conversing with Anna, Tiffany’s friend, who’s giving him a toothy, gorgeous smile.

 

 _You sturdy, heart slaying lady killer_ , Tom thinks petulantly.

 

He hears someone else raising a toast and the people’s attention is thankfully drawn away from him, and Tom sees a chance to slip away from the circle of crowd.

 

He is just about to go and barge into Chris and Anna’s little chaffing when a he feels a tap to his shoulder and when he turns he sees Tiffany, smiling sweetly at him. Tom halts his movement and she takes a step closer to him and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling their faces close together. The scent of wine tickles Tom’s nostrils and he tenses, afraid she might do something rash in front of everyone.

 

“You’re adorable”, she whispers at him and lifts a hand to cup his cheek.

 

“Tiff…”

 

She closes the distance between them and kisses the side of his mouth.

 

“This is one of the best birthdays I’ve had. Thank you...”

 

He exhales a nervous laugh at her and inhales slowly.

 

“You’re welcome Tiff, I... I am so glad to see you happy.”

 

She slurs a giggle at him and rests her head on his chest. He pats her back and his eyes instinctively travel away in search for a familiar figure again until he recognizes Chris’s blond covered head.

 

Chris is still leaning against the wall with Anna talking to him, only now he’s looking right at Tom, his eyes hooded, appearing dark from the distance between them.

 

His face expressionless and clumped, Chris slowly gestures at him with his beer bottle and after a moment turns his attention back to Anna.

 

Feeling a sudden jab run into his heart, Tom lets out a sharp hiss through his teeth. He remembers the woman in his arms and taps her shoulder as softly as he can manage.

 

“Tiffany -”

 

She lifts her face to him and her lips curve into a shy grin. He finds he cannot return the gesture at the moment.

 

He sneaks another look to the spot where he caught Chris a moment ago and sees that he is no longer standing there.

 

Fortunately, a man’s hand lands on his back playfully and stops him from spitting out something lewd in front of everyone. The man invites both him and Tiffany over to sit with them, and Tom obliges with a friendly nod. This is his party.

 

Together with Tiffany, Tom joins the small circle of friends and tries to participate in their idle talk, slowly letting the music and alcohol ease his brows from their frown and bring a casual smile back to his lips.  

 

This casual smile does not reach his eyes though, not even close.

 

 

 

\---------

 

 

 

It’s almost midnight, and most of the guests have already left back to their homes.

 

Tom is still sitting with a small group of people when someone nudges him and points at the couch. Tom looks, and chuckles.

 

On the largest sofa, Chris is half sprawled with his hands folded over his chest and his head thrown on the back of the couch, even further messing his ponytail. He has fallen asleep.

 

Tom likes it. For some reason, he thinks it’s perfect.

 

“Let him sleep”, Tom tells the man.

 

 

 

\-------------

 

 

  
  


Just before the evening is about to finish, when the only remaining guests are Tiffany’s closest friends (and one dozing Chris), she chooses to open the presents people had brought for her. Having forgotten to hand her his own gift, Tom hurries to his bedroom to retrieve it.

 

She is overjoyed for all of her gifts, including Tom’s, and he is glad for it.

 

After that small gifts ceremony, the rest of the guests leave as well, and the only remaining people in the flat are himself, Chris, Tiffany and Anna.  

 

The ladies and him decide to clean up the worst of the mess and food leftovers left by the guests, taking trips to the trash room downstairs and coming back up.

 

When Anna leaves to carry Tiffany’s gifts to their car, Tiffany approaches Tom with a shy expression on her face.

 

“Well. I can’t believe this is actually it. I’ve been planning this for weeks, and bam - it’s over and gone.”

 

“Huh,  So... onto the best next thing then, I think, right?” Tom says.

 

She tucks a few brown locks behind her ear and wears a wondering expression on her face, her eyes full of intent.

 

“Tom, Do you need help? Cleaning up I mean? I… I can stay and help.”

 

Tom looks at her, and she’s lovely to look at.

 

_Take her offer. Let her stay._

 

He can let her stay, he thinks. They can spend the night together. He can tell her as many wry jokes as he wants to, act like a petulant, spoiled boy the way he secretly likes to, and she’ll laugh over and over throughout the night until she’s breathless, and then she’ll sleep with him.

 

He can stay with her. Call her the day after tomorrow. Kiss her.

 

Gravity pulls his attention to the couch, to the sleeping man sprawled on it.

 

Apparently, that man will wake up soon enough and grunt something unintelligible about the late hour. He will remain seated on the sofa and gulp down whatever is left from his warm, flat beer. Both of them will probably watch some absolutely meaningless sports game on TV, rather basketball, and at some point Tom will make a smartass comment about Chris being such a slow runner that Tom would beat him anytime, anywhere, you name it. Chris will snort, and then he’ll giggle. He might even try to make another absurd compliment about Tom’s hair again.

 

Tom feels his throat working and his mind reeling.

 

It seems like a difficult decision to make, but in fact, there is no question really.

 

He takes a deep breath and forces his eyes back to the lady in front of him.

 

“Tiff, sweetheart. I am quite spent actually. I think I will call this a night.”

 

Disappointment shines from her eyes. She follows his previous gaze to Chris and back to Tom.

 

“Is it because of Chris? Anna can take him home… Or I can wake him up and ask him to go… nicely of course.”

 

_No… No, you can’t. You won’t._

 

“It has nothing to do with Chris. He’ll wake up soon enough and I’ll be sending him on his way just as well.”  He says, the words spilling so easily out of his mouth, but he doesn’t even consider the possibility.

 

She looks at Chris one more time and shrugs, clearly unsatisfied. She lifts her bags and turns to walk to the door.

 

I can’t leave her like this, Tom thinks as he watches her leaving. He follows her to the door and leans on the wall next to her.

 

“Hey, we can still have this dinner we talked about. This weekend even. What do you think?”

 

She pauses and turns her eyes to him again, still looking unhappy, but he can see that she is considering his offer.

 

“You pick the place, I’ll make the reservations.”

 

She bows her head downwards a little, as if making a decision. When she lifts her face to him again, her lips are curved in a small smile.

 

“Alright, alright. Will you call me?”

 

Tom smirks at her, triumphant.

 

“I will.”

 

She closes the distance between them and this time, places a small kiss on his lips. He accepts it with silence.

 

“Good night, Tom.”

 

“Happy birthday, Tiff. Good night.”

 

Tom closes the door behind her and stares at it, enjoying the newly returned silence and privacy. The only sound carried around the apartment is Chris’s deep breathing.

 

I’ll have just this one night, he thinks, unsure of his intentions.

 

Just this night.

  
  
  


 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, please pay attention to the newly added tags.

When Chris shows the first sign of waking up from his slumber with a muffled grunt, Tom turns to watch him silently from his perch on the opposite horizontal couch, forgetting the National Geographic channel playing on mute on the TV.

 

With another grunt, Chris pulls himself up to a sitting position and thoroughly rubs his eyes, then his entire face. When done, he squints at Tom, takes his form, then surveys the rest of the living room, now empty of guests.

 

His brows furrow just a little, and he clears his throat.

 

“I’ve fallen asleep on your couch like a slob, haven’t I.”

 

Tom does not hold back his smile.

 

“Indeed.”

 

Chris nods, considering.

 

“Has everyone left?”

 

“Positive.”

 

Murmuring some kind of an affirmation, Chris stretches his neck from side to side and itches his chest rather inelegantly. He reaches for the beer on the table and tries it, grimacing as he swallows.

 

“Flat and warm.”

 

“I believe you”, Tom says and chuckles

 

“For the best, though. You don’t look like you could stomach another one.”  
  


Another quiet nod, then - “You’re probably right.” , and no more after that.

 

The man looks utterly exhausted, Tom muses, then recalls Chris telling him he hasn’t been sleeping well during the last few days. He contemplates what to say next.

 

Will he stay for the night?

 

“What about coffee?” Chris suddenly asks, his tone peculiar.

 

“Do you think I can stomach some coffee? Is that alright with you?”

 

There’s bait thrown at him here, Tom knows this, but decides to continue to play fair at the moment.

 

“The kitchen is yours.” he says, gesturing an invitation with his hand.

 

Chris rises to stand, stretching his limbs. “Thank you.”

 

Tom follows his long strides with his gaze all the way into the kitchen, taking note again of the man’s rumpled attire and slumped posture. It gets his mind reeling again.

 

He was hoping for a nice, humorous and perhaps even a slightly flirtatious night. An elusive Chris was completely unexpected.

 

Something is wrong. He can feel it in his bones.  Something is wrong and he wants to know what it is.

 

“Where do you keep the spoons? ” is heard through the living room’s separating wall, along with rattling noises of closet doors opening and closing, drawers being pulled and pushed back.

 

Feeling suddenly jaded, Tom shuts down the TV with a murmur and goes to the kitchen. He fishes out a spoon out of one of the drawers and hands it to Chris, who receives it quietly.

 

Tom turns to leave back to the living room, but halts for a moment, hesitating. Instead, he turns around to stand nearby the kitchen’s entrance and rests his shoulder on the wall.

 

He looks at Chris’s back as he prepares his coffee and despite the somewhat sour mood, feels content.

 

There is something awfully endearing about seeing Chris in Tom’s kitchen like this, doing something as casual as making coffee and not being in a hurry to leave. The sight appears so pleasant, so warm, and Tom worries his lip.

 

 _I really am pining for him_ , he thinks, and the sudden clarity of this sends a wave of both surprise and sadness through his chest.

 

He bumps his head against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut at the deep thump his head emits.

 

The kitchen is silent, the woosh of water boiling in the kettle echoing back from the walls and sounds of weak late night traffic from outside pour through the window.

 

“So what’s with the homeless look anyway?”

 

Chris’s lifts the kettle to pour some water into this cup and grumbles out what might have been a chuckle on a better day.

 

“I woke up this morning and felt like one, so I dressed accordingly. What do you think? Did I get it right?”

  
  


Tom takes a deep breath but knows it is no use. This is not the first time Chris does this. He’s has been showing Tom that little bit of arrogant indifference whenever something clicked wrongly in his head apparently, and Tom was appalled by it. It stung.

 

He huffs a frustrated laugh, the sense of loss of what he wished to be an engaging, savory night causing his mouth to bite.

 

“Tell me Chris. Tell me why you look and act like a ragged street dog.”

 

Chris stops pouring the water into his cup midway and places the kettle back on the counter.

 

Leaving his coffee unattended, he turns around to face Tom and sets his hands on his sides, leaning on the marble. Moments pass, but he says nothing, his shoulders taut and body rooted in its place.

 

He is angry at something, Tom can tell.  Oh, He will know this one. He will wrench it out of him.

 

“Well? What is it? What’s your story this time?” Tom says, cutting.

 

Can’t they watch a useless sports game on TV with Chris’s arm wrapping around Tom’s shoulders every time his favorite team scores a point? Can’t they drink the rest of that awful English beer Chris likes so much until he insists he has to leave and go back to his wife and family but he is in fact is too drunk to drive and they both laugh about it like fools?

 

Chris cocks his head at him, still smug and audacious, but slowly his shoulders fall and his expression turns grave. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

 

“Mark is dead.”

 

Tom blinks at him, taking in the information.

 

His body releases a shudder. He runs a hand through his hair, breaths deeply and folds his arms over his chest.

 

The kitchen is again silent, this time dominated by the sounds of the refrigerator’s electric buzz and faint noises of human chatter.

 

“When?” Tom finally asks.

 

“Three am yesterday.”

 

He nods slowly, calculating.

 

“So you were at his funeral today.”

 

“I was.”

 

That’s why you haven’t answered my calls. The thought selfishly pours into Tom’s mind, needy as a child and sharp as a needle.

 

“I’ve been told he woke up with an extreme headache. He signaled the doctors, who showed up and drugged him back to sleep to ease the pain. He never woke up again.”

 

Tom winces at the bleak story. His fingers dig into the flesh of his arms as he searches for something to say. He opens his mouth, but all he can do is watch Chris.

 

His face is a little pale, expressing concentration and turmoil at the same time. There’s anger there, yet his body seems drained of energy.

 

The man is torn.

 

Tom’s chest contorts and he swallows with difficulty.

 

_What should I do Chris? What should I say to you?_

 

“He has just started to live, you know? He made some changes in his life, he actually did what he wanted to do.”

 

Chris brings his palm to his face and rubs his eyes at length.

 

“He was… he was brave. A brave, honest man,” He murmurs, his voice barely audible.

 

Tom feels stupid just standing there, doing nothing. Stupid and wanting.

 

He pushes himself from the wall and slowly steps closer to Chris. He feels his fingers tingle with the impulse to embrace the man, caress his face, pull his head close and plant a kiss on his temple.

 

“You are brave as well, Chris,” he tries weakly, feeling at a loss.

 

Chris straightens against the counter and drums his fingers on the counter’s marble, meeting Tom’s gaze. His eyes are rimmed with red and his lips are drawn in a tight, colorless line.

 

“Yeah? You think so?”

 

Chris’s tone is hollow and mocking, and Tom nods gently, empathizing with his sarcasm.

 

He wants to tell him, wants to give the man some minimal comfort, but saying the words will make his heart fold onto itself with resentment and grudge.

 

“You are a husband, a loving father, you have a blossoming career. And among all of these you dare to laugh, to find the time and attention to make friends, be kind to people, visit your sick friends, and even show up for my trifling little party. Yes, I think you are brave.”

 

Chris looks at him, his eyes are glassy and wondering. His lips quirk into a smile, but it’s flat and sardonic.

 

“You are wrong, my friend. More than you will ever know,” he says and his voice suddenly breaks.

 

Tom tenses at the sound, at the sight of Chris so shaken.

 

_What has happened to you? You friend is dead, but what has happened to you?_

 

Tom lifts his hand to touch Chris’s arm, the front of his palm pressed against his muscle, warm and pulsing. Even like this, split and disheveled, this man is captivating.

 

Chris senses Tom’s touch and turns to look at him, his face is taut and his jaw is set. He looks provoked.

 

Sensing he might have miscalculated the situation, Tom withdraws his arm, but he is stopped midway, his wrist seized by one of Chris’s hands.

 

The sudden movement startles him for a moment, the grip on his wrist hard and hot, but he does not falter. He tilts his head to look at Chris, his expression firm. He is nervous, but he does not want Chris to see it.

 

“What is it?”

 

Chris' fingers squeeze his wrist once, but Tom does not respond, standing his ground.

 

“Do you know why?”

 

Tom lifts his eyebrow, summoning his most disapproving look. “Excuse me?”

 

Chris tugs his wrist further beyond his shoulder and leans his face forward.

Tom registers their proximity, the small distance between their faces, and senses Chris’s scent for the first time, deep and coarse.

 

A surge of alarm jolts through him and he tries to pull his wrist back, but Chris’s grip is rigid, nonrelenting.

 

His mind races with thoughts of defending himself, of paying Chris back with the same coin, of burying his face in the crook of his neck and tasting his skin and warmth for once and for all, of promising him that everything will be ok. His gripped wrist is shivering and Tom opens his mouth to speak, but his tongue is numb.

 

“I…”

 

Chris tugs his wrist again.

 

“Do you know why you are wrong?”

 

He has no idea what Chris is talking about, and something inside him snaps. He raises his other hand to Chris’s chest, attempting to push himself away, but Chris grabs that wrist too and Tom nearly yells in frustration and alarm.

 

“Damn it Chris, what in god’s name are you raving about?”

 

Chris’s eyes are glinting with something Tom does not recognize, but he seems to catch himself. The grips on his wrists relax, but do not release him still. He appears to be considering something, then he continues, his voice low.

 

“This lady. Tiffany”

 

Tom scowls immediately.

 

“What about her” he spits.

 

“She fancies you, does she not.”

 

Tom only gazes at him, dumbstruck. What does Chris want with her? He had seen Tom with countless women, why would she bother him?

 

A thought suddenly occurs to him, that Chris might be desiring Tiffany, looking at her with those shiny blue eyes of his, wanting her, and he hisses in distaste. He would hate her for this.

 

The hand that grips his second wrist suddenly releases it’s grip completely and gets a hold of his waist, pulling him close. Chris leans his face close to Tom’s, his breath reaching Tom’s nose, a mix of cologne, beer and _man_.

 

“I saw you two together”

 

Tom is rooted to his place. He is soaked with Chris’s scent, the wild heat that is spreading from his touch into Tom’s blood, and slowly his alarm and defensiveness dissolve into a steady ache.

 

He lets Chris pull him even closer until their noses touch, and Tom’s lips part with wonder, tasting the air.

 

 _Things have changed_ , that voice from within himself repeats it’s odd chant, this time with a hint of scorn, of mockery.

 

Chris releases his other wrist, and Tom lets it fall onto his shoulder, instinctively pressing his fingertips into the man’s shirt, feeling for his flesh. The hand that released him reaches to cup the back of his neck, harboring him in place.

 

“She wants you”, Chris tells him and tilts his face, placing a gentle kiss on Tom’s forehead, causing his eyes to press tightly shut.

 

Distantly, Tom thinks that while he foolishly let himself fall deeper and deeper into a wormhole of emotions towards this beauty of a man, he has never put enough thought to keep trace of his way out of this, has forgotten to mark his own path of escape.

 

He doubts anything will happen until the very last moment, almost certain that Chris will sober up any moment now and push him away.

 

Almost certain of it, until Chris leans his face close, so close, and presses his lips to Tom’s.

 

_Oh, Chris._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Those who bargain with the Devil shouldn't be surprised at their empty pockets," Snape murmured, and Harry wondered exactly how much he'd had to drink.
> 
> "I... I don't know what that means," Harry said.
> 
> Snape's eyes glittered. "No? Then let's hope you never have to find out."
> 
>  
> 
> [A Choriambic Progression by Mairead Triste and Aristide](http://inkstain.inkquill.net/isf/archive/21/achoriambic.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, 
> 
> I would like to thank all of you for your lovely feedback, for it warms my heart :)
> 
> It is not every day that someone's creation gets to be appreciated so openly.
> 
> I do hope you will continue to enjoy this story :)

Their kiss is static at first, just a press of lips as if they are both afraid it might collapse any moment now.

The fingers on Tom’s neck draw small circles on his nape and Chris parts his lips, coaxing Tom’s lips to pry open as well, cautiously accepting.

They kiss like this, tenderly tasting each other’s mouth and breathing the same air, until Chris drags his lips to the side of Tom’s mouth, his chest rising and sinking in deep breaths.

Tom lifts his hand to Chris’s cheek, rakes his fingers across the slight stubble, and waits.  

_Kiss me. Kiss me again._

Tom is soon obliged, urged closer by his waist, and he is being kissed again, this time with a tongue slowly peeking in, measuring his mouth.

Their tongues meet, and Chris hums in response. He tightens his hold on Tom and tilts his head to the side, until their kiss becomes demanding, taking more and more from each other, fingers pressing against cloth-covered skin.

It lasts only a few seconds until Chris breaks their kiss again with a sharp breath and turns to rub their cheeks together, as if collecting himself.

Tom brings his arms around Chris’s neck, pulling them into a close embrace. He opens his eyes, peeks at his hand behind Chris’s shoulder, and sees that his fingers are shivering.

He swallows and wills himself to relax, mildly caressing Chris’s neck, breathing his scent and presence.

Through their close embrace, Tom sizes Chris’s bigger body. He is only slightly taller than Tom, but his arms have to stretch in order to circle the man’s neck and shoulders. Their upper bodies are flushed against each other, Chris’s chest flat but carved with prominent muscles, considerably broader than Tom’s and somewhat threatening with its size.

Chris nuzzles his jaw, then brings his lips to hover above the crook of Tom’s neck. Soft kisses are placed there and Tom breathes deeply, his body going a little rigid in hesitation.

Chris appears to sense his qualms, and he ceases his ministrations. He pulls back to face Tom, slowly carding his fingers through his hair. Tom’s eyes flutter shut in response, his body calming with the touch.

Distantly, Tom wonders back to their previous exchange, reaching out with his mind to what might had led them to stand so close to each other, kiss each other, but his mind is blurry and his heart feels very large and heavy in his chest.

Chris pushes away from the counter so they both stand upright, and his fingers leave Tom’s hair to his nape, pulling him for another kiss. It is gentler this time, lips brushing, tongues sliding against each other, deep breaths drawn through their noses.

“I like your hair,” Chris tells him and Tom chuckles, but Chris does not join his laugh. He lowers his hands to Tom’s waist and very gently rolls his hips against him, once, twice.

And it serves like a jolt of heat. The air shifts around them immediately and Tom feels his belly coiling with need and blood, primal instincts kicking in. Too soon, he thinks, but the impulse is strong, and there’s a sense of urgency inside him, imploring him to take what is offered. He kisses Chris sharply and moans into his mouth, digs his fingers into his shoulder blades and grinds his hips back.

Chris trembles against him and pulls them apart.

“Wait--”, he says before Tom can ask, then pushes them back until Tom is backed against the wall.

“Like this”, He brushes an a stray lock from Tom’s forehead and moves to nip at his jaw. His palm comes to brace itself on the wall next to Tom’s head and he shifts his hips forward again.

The air around them is thick but cold, emphasizing the heat emitted from their bodies, making it feel dense and weighty.

Chris nuzzles Tom’s cheek and nips at the skin below his ear, his hips rolling against Tom’s in slow, heavy movements.

“Is this ok?”, Chris breaths against his cheek and Tom feels incredulous, knowing the answer yet not knowing the words for it.

“Yes,” He says ineptly and tries to catch Chris’s lips, wanting to convey his reply differently.

Chris hums into his mouth and lets Tom kiss him while his other hand finds his waist again.

Chris pulls back momentarily to rearrange his stance then dips his face back again, finding Tom’s neck this time. Maintaining balance through the palm anchored on the wall, he shifts his hips forward again, tightly pressing into Tom’s crotch, and then Tom feels it, feels Chris’s erection against his.

“Ah”, he pants against Chris’s lips and his fingers clench against the man’s forearms, digging in.

Chris murmurs in response, continuing to pull back then press himself forward, flush against him, meeting Tom’s hardness with his in every push.

“I”m sorry if I held your wrists too tightly.”

Tom laughs softly, but it’s not completely genuine. It did hurt a little, more than it should have, but he wants Chris to remain close. And besides.

“I’m a man, not porcelain”

Chris nods against his cheek. “Ok. Alright.”

His tone makes Tom’s throat grow tight and he bites on his tongue, irritated. No more of this.

He pulls Chris’s head near by the back of his neck and pushes his tongue into the man’s mouth, searching for it’s partner. Kiss me, he thinks.

Chris responds immediately, letting Tom treat his mouth a little roughly and comes to grip Tom’s hip bone. He squeezes, eliciting a moan from Tom, then lowers his fingers to circle around Tom’s thigh, and pulls.

Tom is a little wary at first, and Chris tugs again, kissing his throat. “Lift your leg”.

And so he does, albeit a little hesitantly. It feels strange, foreign.

Chris pulls his leg up until it his hooked around his waist, and takes a small step forward, pressing their groins flush together. It’s too much.

Tom moans out loud and cups Chris’s face, moving his lips to bite his ear.

Chris growls low in his throat, his fingers tight on Tom’s thigh, and he shakes Tom’s teeth off his ear. He shoves his hips forward sharply and catches Tom’s mouth with his, knocking the back of his head on the wall in the process.

Tom tears his mouth away and hisses in pain.

Chris releases his leg down and pulls away as if burnt.

“Christ, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he rasps, his voice thick and breathy.

Tom opens his eyes slowly and grunts, feeling a little silly. He reaches his hand to bumped area and massages it, driving away the sting.

Chris moves his hand gingerly towards the back of Tom’s head but it lands on his shoulder, and he shakes his head, obviously distraught.

“It was just a small bump, Chris, relax.“

“Yes, ok, I get it, just - sorry”

He takes a step back, taking the heat away with him, and Tom feels horrible.

_Send him home.You’ve done it. You’ve got his hands and lips on you, his undivided attention. Finish it, send him home. Don’t tumble any deeper._

Chris reaches to cup the back of his neck and brushes Tom’s jaw with his thumb, his touch gentle and comforting. They both relax into the touch until Chris pulls away and straightens back up, placing an almost respectable distance between them.

Tom leans back on the wall and stares at Chris’s shirt, now looking even more rumpled than it was before.

This could go only one way if he stays, Tom knows this very clearly. Things will never be as they were before. This might even have some consequences if he doesn’t play this right. He might get hurt. Other people might get hurt as well.

He also knows that this, in a way, is a single chance to actually do this, to have his need and want satisfied to the brim and perhaps even move on past this emotional episode, which faces him with a troublesome truth every day anew.

_I want him. I want to have this with him. With him, not someone else._

The choice is simple, yet very frightening to make.

Chris moves to turn around and Tom catches his wrist.

“There’s a bedroom. We can get more comfortable there.”

Chris swallows and releases a deep breath, his eyes still clouded and weary. Remaining silent, he watches Tom’s face and shakes his head slowly.

For a moment, Tom thinks he is about to be refused and he grips Chris’s wrist more urgently.

_Chris._

“Alright, yes.”, Chris finally says.

“Ok,” Tom nods, and without anything else to say turns towards the kitchen’s exit.

A hand on his shoulder stops him and he looks back to Chris, whose expression is sober, almost pleading.

“No one can know about this Tom. No one.”

Tom did not think otherwise, but it still stung to hear it all the same.

“Of course. I know this.”

Chris nods and steps next to him, waiting for Tom to lead the way.

They walk silently to Tom’s bedroom, and the temporary pause unleashes some wild animals in his mind.

Was it Mark’s death which drove Chris over the edge tonight? Was it the sight of him and Tiffany that got Chris’s spite rising, altogether dulling his rational? Were his actions a pure result of grief and anger only?

Momentarily focused enough to push away the uncertainties from his mind, Tom senses it might not be the complete truth. Thinking back, Tom might have thought that his urges were well hidden, that they were of no consequences for everyone else including himself, but he now realized just how far he had been from the truth. He had wanted this for a long time now, perhaps even had encouraged them both towards this very moment.

His heart thrumming wildly in his chest, Tom opens the door to his bedroom and steps inside, followed by Chris.

Wordlessly, he walks in front of the bed and starts undoing the buttons to his shirt. He does not look at Chris, but rather hears him coming to stand just behind him, removing his shirt as well.

Usually Tom has his clothes removed for him by his partner, a lady partner, and certainly not like this, but tonight, by all means, is very, very different.

With shaky fingers, he fumbles with his shirt buttons, feeling as nervous as a snappish teenage maiden.

He hears the rustle of Chris’s belt buckle as he removes his jeans and sees it placed on a chair nearby at the corner of his eyes.

“Would you please leave the lights out.”, Chris says quietly.

Tom nods without looking at him. It was a strange thing to ask, but he could see the sense in it. He might have done it himself if not for Chris’s initiation.

The room remains dark, but by now Tom’s eyes have already adjusted and they catch the moon’s gentle light illuminating the room.

He finally finishes removing his shirt and sees Chris walk past him to sit on his bed, his face obscured in the shadows.

Tom removes his trousers as well and breaths deeply, preparing himself. Like Chris, he leaves his briefs on, walks to the bed and sits next to him, his fingers tingling with the need to touch him again.

They sit shoulder to shoulder for a moment, both overwhelmed by their thoughts. Tom feels his throat convolve at the absurdity of their situation, at the bittersweet ache in his heart.

He slowly leans his head to rest it on Chris shoulder and sighs, trying to relieve his tight chest. Chris turns his face to nuzzle Tom’s crown and brings his arm around his back.

_Does he know how much I’ve wanted him? For how long?_

They sit like this, the dim light barely coloring their limbs, until Chris brings his hand to cup Tom’s cheek and tilts his head up for a kiss, making Tom purr at their mouths’ reunion.

They kiss a nip at each other’s lips until Tom can’t wait any longer and he pushes them both to lie on the bed to face each other.

Finally, finally he can touch this man, and he seizes the opportunity.

His arms roam to his back and then to his arms, marveling at the prominent muscles and thick veins sliding under his fingers. Chris caresses Tom’s chest with his palms down his stomach and pauses there, bending his head to travel down Tom’s neck and shoulders, parting his lips.

Tom shudders  at the sensation of that mouth on his body, feeling the blood rushing in his veins, his mind still grasping the situation for what it is. He whispers Chris’s name lightly, his voice foolishly coy.

Chris answers with a low moan against Tom’s skin and pushes him onto his back.

Tom obliges and lies back with his eyes closed, bringing his wrist to rest on his forehead and his lips part for air. He is both mindful of the erection straining in his briefs and thankful for the obscurity provided by the lack of light. For some reason he can’t grasp yet, he feels reserved.

Chris runs his hand again down his chest, brushing one of his nipples along the way and halts his fingers’ travel on Tom’s lower belly. Tom opens his eyes to watch Chris’s face and sees him gazing, as if awed, at his palm stroking Tom’s skin. He lets his fingers drift along Tom’s belly, his eyes closely following the movement.

“This is madness.”, Chris whispers.

Yes, yes it is, Tom thinks but does not say, and suddenly he is afraid. Afraid that Chris will leave him. He braces himself on his elbow and brings his other hand to Chris’s face and pulls him for a desperate kiss.

Chris responds gently at first, which only drives Tom to kiss him more harshly, feeling a little furious at him for being able to think clearly and utter his thoughts out loud.

Eventually Chris breaks their kiss, pushes Tom down to his back again and returns his mouth and tongue to Tom’s chest while resuming running his fingers along Tom’s torso until he reaches his lower belly and squeezes his hip bone.

Tom licks his lips at the touch and his hips buck up involuntarily towards to empty air.

Chris feels his movement and surprises them both with a low growl, after which he moves quickly to claim Tom’s lips again.

To Tom’s satisfaction, the kiss is not gentle anymore, not exploring, but demanding and seeking to devour. Their tongues fight for dominance and Chris’s palm slowly travels lower south until it rests upon Tom’s clothed erection. Tom tears his mouth from their kiss and whimpers at the contact.

The palm on his erection slides across his crotch lazily until Tom feels fingers cup him through his briefs, and both of them release a shaky breath into the air.

Tom’s breath exhilarates as Chris establishes a slow, steady rhythm with his palm, rubbing him through the thin cloth, and a throaty moan escapes him as Chris grinds his own hardness in a solid movement against his side, a hot brand on his hip.

The quiet room echos Tom’s short, quick breaths and Chris’s low, satisfied hums, until Chris ceases his movements, his breath hot and damp on Tom’s shoulder.

Chris shifts a little, his face visible but obscured in the dim moonlight, and Tom feels his fingers release their hold on him and come to lace through his brief’s waistband, gently tugging them down. He can see the shadow of Chris’s eyes searching his face, silently asking Tom for permission.

Licking his lips and releasing a deep, uneven breath, he nods quietly but pushes Chris’s hand gently away.

“Let me, I will take them off.”

He is not sure why he’s keen on doing it himself exactly, but the action itself of removing his last garment of clothing done by Chris is simply too intimate to contain at the moment.

Chris nods slowly, seeming to be letting Tom’s request settle into his mind while still searching his eyes.

“Alright.”

Wishing to get past this quickly, Tom pulls his underwear off and places them on the floor beside the bed. Following his moves, Chris does the same with his own briefs and returns to lie on his side next to Tom.

Aware of their mutual nakedness but not being able to completely grasp it under the soft blanket of the darkness in the room, a sensation of disquiet sinks into Tom’s gut and immediately he feels a great need to take comfort from another kiss, from Chris’s mouth on his.

He reaches his hand to Chris’s neck and tries to pull his head closer, but Chris does not comply and remains still. Tom licks his lips with anticipation and need, and gives another tug, wanting Chris close to him, but the man only takes Tom’s hand and removes it from his neck.

“Tom, wait. Do you have any oil?”

_Oil._

_Yes, Ok._

Chris’s voice is low and gruff, and Tom squeezes his eyes shut as he wills ideas and thoughts to rush through his head in search for a practical reply. He almost panics at first when nothing comes to mind until a rather mesmerising night he’d had with a beautiful older woman a few months back emerges from his memory and he releases a sly laugh into the air.

“A moment, if you will.”

Tom rolls over, reaches a small cabinet nearby the bed and opens the bottom drawer - and he sees what he is looking for. His eyes drift to the pack of condoms fixed just nearby the small vial and wonders wildly if he should place them in an arm’s reach as he usually does so he wouldn’t have to kill the mood later, but decides against it as he doesn’t know how far they will go with this and he does not wish to be presumptuous, not tonight. Oil is good enough, he thinks, and grabs the small vial, rolls back to face Chris and places it on the bed in front of him.

Chris holds up the bottle, squints to read the label silently and actually laughs after a moment.

“Natural massage oil?”

Tom glowers at him playfully in the dark and tries to come up with a smart retort until he feels lips being pressed into his shoulder and he shivers with the heat sent through his chest.

The bed is dipped next to him and he sees the silhouette of Chris rising to his knees. He wants to say something, to break the silence as he sees and hears Chris slicking his palms with the oil, but his lips only remain parted with utter speechlessness at the sight. If he’s not mistaking, Chris’s fingers are somewhat shaky just as well.

Chris leans back to lie next to him, finally grants Tom a small kiss and hovers his palm over Tom’s stomach towards his groin, leaving warm heavy drops of oil on Tom’s flesh on it’s way.

Tom’s fingers drum his own skin as he holds his breath in anticipation, and then it happens - large, warm, slick fingers wrap around him and he releases a gasp.

Tom’s hand shoot up to cover Chris’s palm with an unpredictable instinct, not to stop him, but to cover his fingers with his own as they start stroking him with languid, slow movements and Tom is already breathless with lust and something else, something dangerous that he pushes aside, for now.

_I want to see him enjoying himself, I want to see him breathless._

“Give me some room Chris.”

Tom can see Chris’s brows furrowing as his face turns to him and his hand stops its ministrations.

“Huh?” He grumbles, sounding ruffled as if being interrupted.

Tom says nothing, smirks to himself in the dark and simply pushes Chris back a little and rearranges himself on his side to face him. He brings his palm to his stomach, catching the drops of oil left there with his fingers and leans his face to Chris’s to slide his tongue into the other man’s mouth while taking hold of his cock.

He just as long and thick as I thought he would be, Tom notes to himself, and he laughs inwardly with half mad satisfaction mixed with dread.

Chris groans and squeezes his hip bones harshly enough to pull another gasp from Tom. Soon enough though, his slick hand returns to Tom’s erection and for several wonderful moments they stroke each other while panting into each other’s mouths.

Their mutual rhythm stops however when Chris pulls his fingers and leans his face back to catch Tom’s gaze.

“What is it?” Tom whispers.

Chris stares at him but says nothing, and Tom feels the man’s fingers trail down his hip and grip his thigh. He lets his leg be pulled towards Chris’s body until it is hooked over his hip. He applies more oil to his fingers, then slides his fingers back to Tom’s groin, this time aiming into the valley between his legs and beyond.

Chris’s eyes are black holes in their sockets, his skin is gray in the dim moonlight and Tom hesitates.

He wants Chris, yes, but does he want _this_?

He feels a finger poking up his entrance and his arm shoots up to grip Chris’s bicep instinctively.

“Should I stop?”, Chris asks him, his voice uneven and his muscles tight under Tom’s touch.

Tom drops his head to the bed, closes his eyes but remains silent. What should he say? That he is loath of the pain that might come? That his heart may turn to ashes if he plays this wrong?

The slicked finger pokes him again with more force this time and his leg tightens around Chris’s hip.

He can feel Chris’s eyes on him, looking for some kind of response.

“Should I stop Tom?”

Tom lifts his head and places the gentlest kiss on Chris’s temple, the way he has wanted to do for a long time. “Don’t stop.”

Chris nods, kisses his lips, and his finger pushes up again, this time finds its way inside, and Tom stifles a cry by biting into Chris’s shoulder.

Chris hisses lowly, his arm shivering but firm between Tom’s legs, allowing his finger to venture deeper into Tom’s body until its buried to it’s knuckle, all while Tom’s teeth are sunk into his flesh.

“This ok?“, Chris speaks incoherently into his ear, but Tom is too lost in sensation to consider his words, the unexpected feeling of being exposed overwhelming him.

He feels stretched, breached, but he is not in pain.

He is still holding tightly onto Chris’s arm, and it starts moving under his grip, slowly pulling the finger out of him then back inside. Warm lips touch his cheek and Tom whimpers again at the gentle touch.

“Tell me,”

Tom kisses him instead, his tongue demanding entrance into Chris’s mouth, licking his teeth and lips then searching for its partner. Chris’s wrist is working him, again and again, and Tom feels something warm and massive starts coiling in his belly. He breaks the kiss and finds Chris gazing at him, his eyes lost and wild.

_Good._

Chris shifts his posture a little and pulls his finger almost all the way out of Tom’s body, then releases a deep breath and uses a second finger to press into Tom’s entrance.

“Okay?” Chris rasps at him.

“Uh,-- uh”, is Tom’s best reply to this.

It is okay, Tom thinks, even though the sensation of being furtherly stretched sends a biting throb through his lower back up to the back of his neck.

He lowers his eyes to Chris’s groin and wordlessly reaches his palm to envelop the man’s length, finding it hard and pulsing in his under his palm. It feels wonderful in his hand, he realizes, and Chris moans and begins moving his hips again, sliding his cock back and forth into Tom’s fingers.

Chris’s breath hitches and something seems to snap in him as he braces himself on his elbow and he intensifies his wrist’s tentative pace, working Tom now with definite purpose.

He is beautiful, ridiculously beautiful, Tom thinks distantly as his body stings with sweet pain, his erection neglected but leaking. It’s too much too soon, his mind screams at him, but ignores it, his rational overridden by want and deeper urges he will not define by name.

“Enough”, Chris suddenly grits out and slowly pulls his wrist out from between Tom’s legs, nearly knocking the air out of his chest at the sudden loss of pressure. He untangles Tom’s fingers from his erection and drops his head on Tom’s shoulder, chest heaving with visible tension.

“Okay, okay.” Tom pants at him, confused. He brings his palm to the man’s cheek and lowers it down to his neck.

Chris’s throat is working, waves of heat radiating from his body.

“Tom,”

Tom is by no means a stranger to sex and heated nights, but the darkened room, by now warmed up by their heavy breaths and heated labor feels and smells so very different from what he knows. It fascinates him.

“What is it?” He says and feels like a stranger in his own bedroom.

He can’t see Chris’s eyes in the dark, but he hears Chris swallowing his own saliva, then clearing his throat. Tom senses he is having difficulty saying something and is probably struggling for words, but Tom is determined not to help him with this. Whatever it is, he wants to hear it from Chris’s own mouth.

“Do you have a condom?” Chris says finally, his voice steady but stiff.

Ah.

But there’s another question scribbled there between the lines, unspoken.

_Are you ready to go through with this?_

And it’s a tricky one, because Tom’s honest answer is that no, he is not ready, not for this, not wholeheartedly. Chris is a married man, no less, and Tom, who may have almost any woman or man for himself, wants to be in _this_ man’s proximity, wants _this_ man to kiss him.

He is not ready for this, not now, perhaps not ever, bu he wants this with his heart.

I can have this, he thinks. I can have this single night with him. A single night which will let me keep a piece of him with me, and he will know of that piece too, deep inside his soul.

“I do”, Tom says with his eyes closed, some of the warmth leaving his body.

He turns around again to the small cabinet, grabs the small packet from the drawer and places it between them.

Chris, who must have sensed his turmoil, places his hand on Tom’s ribs and caresses him gently, once again appears to be struggling with what to say.

None of this, Tom thinks, and leans over to catch his lips. His tongue plunders its way in and he tries to push Chris to his back, wanting to straddle him, but meets with resistance. Tom pulls back, heart squeezing in fear of rejection or change of mind.

Chris tightens his fingers into his ribs.

“I prefer that you’ll turn onto your stomach.”

Tom bites onto his tongue and feels himself blush. Ok then.

He nods quietly and turns around onto his belly, not missing his ego’s pang of resentment at the lack of domination at the situation. He has always been the stronger one with his past women partners, in terms of both status and physique.

Chris rises onto his knees and Tom hears him tearing the plastic cover, rolling the condom over himself and then using more oil for extra lubrication onto the condom.

The room is silent and the air around them is tense as two hands are placed on Tom’s hips, pulling his rear upwards until he is balanced on his knees and elbows on the bed. He can hear Chris’s heavy breaths behind him, but does not look back at him, tension running through his veins.

His legs are spread by Chris’s knees as he positions himself, and a hot, large palm lands on the small of his back, holding him steady. A moment passes and he senses the blunt head of Chris’s latex covered cock nudging him gently.

Desire and fear creep up his spine and Tom holds his breath. Chris is really going to do this, and he was going to take it.

Will it hurt? Will he even enjoy this? Will Chris enjoy this?

He feels a gentle push against his entrance and instinctively surges forward, bucking away from the intrusion, but Chris holds him still, the hand on his hip keeping him in place.

“Breath,” Chris says, his voice coarse and deep, patting Tom’s back reassuringly.

Chris pushes forward again, and this time manages to penetrate two inches through the resisting flesh.

Oh, but it burns, Tom thinks to himself and hisses with pain.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Chris says quietly. His palm is not steady on Tom’s hip and Tom feels drops of sweat land on his lower back.

Chris’s hips roll slowly forward and he slides another inch inside, pulling a ragged whimper from Tom’s mouth. He’s large, damn it, Tom thinks, and his throat grows dry at his hurried breaths.

Breathing deeply, Chris places his palms on the bed on either side of Tom and bends his chest to meet Tom’s back, making Tom shake his head at the change of angle.

“Say something,” Chris heaves between breaths, his nose touching Tom’s back, tickling him sweetly.

“I’m good, I’m ok”, Tom grits between his teeth, thin angles of sweat trailing down his temples down to his cheeks.

Chris grunts an affirmation and slowly rolls his hips a few more times, carefully sliding in further, letting Tom’s flesh stretch and accommodate him.

“Sweet Jesus, you’re so tight.”

Tom laughs out loud, voice strained.

“I would think so.”

Tom can actually feel Chris’s strain, his chest falling and rising heavily against his back, his breath rasped and his hips stuttering, torn between wanting to release the pressure and not hurting Tom.

A palm flattens on his upper chest, tracing his skin across his nipples down to his belly button, a slow thrust of hips, and Chris penetrates deeper, all the way in.

For a moment, it’s too much, and Tom pants nervously, going rigid. Chris halts his movements immediately and leans forward again, pressing his chest flush to Tom’s back. He swallows hard and touches his lips to Tom’s sweat covered skin.

“You feel great”, Chris pants at him, his breath damp on Tom’s back.

“You look great, too”, and Tom chuckles breathlessly, the words sounding foolish to his ears but making his chest feel too small to contain his heart.

Chris thrusts again, slow but steady, swaying back then forward until there’s no more way to penetrate further in. He establishes a gradual pace with his hips, one hand on the bed and another one flat on Tom’s lower belly, guiding his body along with his thrusts.

“I like looking at you,”

Tom inhales sharply through his nose and it comes out as watery sniff. He curses softly at his own sentimentality, eyes tightly shut.

Chris rises for a moment, re-slicks his palms, then bends over again, chest flush against Tom’s back, and reaches his palm to Tom’s cock, which is half neglected and demandingly hard. Kisses are pressed into his shoulder blades, and the hand on his cock starts stroking him languidly, now with purpose.

Tom’s back is kissed and nipped, his cock is is stroked with care, and he moans with pleasure. Chris was maintaining a leisured pace with his hips, sliding backwards only a little then all the way back inside, stretching Tom’s walls, hips hotly branded against Tom’s arse.

Lips travel up his spine and then teeth gently close onto the back of his neck, making him arch his back against the man covering him.

“I want this to be good for you,” Chris whispers close to his ear.

His voice is so close, raw and pleading, and Tom opens his eyes and lowers his face to the pillow. He feels Chris all around him, trapping Tom with his arms wrapped around him, palm flat on his chest and his other hand on his dick, tugging and pulling at his flesh, pushing him close to the edge.

 

He is a little dizzy with the warmth and their engulfing position, and the hand stroking him increases its pace until a warm weight gathers in his lower belly, dulling the sting of being penetrated.

Surrounded by the sweet, slick heat and throbbing sensations, Tom knows he is drawing close to the edge and he bucks his hips into Chris’s warm hand, his body damp with sweat and cock leaking with seed. Chris is panting together with him, his hips moving gradually but shaking with tension. He is clearly focusing his efforts on Tom now, stroking him to an end in a well fitting pace. Tom feels his blood pulsing in his cock, his balls tight and ready and he hisses with soiled pleasure.

“I won’t last much more like this”.

“Come on, Come on then”.

It’s too powerful and too good at the same time and Tom wants this, wants everything he can get.

Pleasure and heat overtake him, and his hips buck uncontrollably until his seed is bursting out of him into Chris’s palm.

“Chris, I’m--, Chris”

Latching on Tom’s shoulder with his teeth upon sensing his orgasm, Chris is holding him through it, milking Tom’s cock and palming his stomach. Feeling raw and exposed, Tom’s body  trembles and instinctively his hand reaches to Chris’s palm on his belly, covering his fingers with his own.

With waves of ecstasy slowly leaving his body, His hips slow down to a mild roll and his head hangs down his shoulders. He is drained.

Chris’s unties their fingers and runs a soothing hand to caress Tom’s ribs up to his shoulder blades.

“All right?”

 

Tom mutters a quiet ‘yes’,  his body shivering as a wave of cold air from the open window hits his sticky stomach.

His chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths and still buried inside Tom, Chris shivers with him.

“Tom… I need to move.”

A sloppy smile spreads on Tom’s lips at the sound of Chris’s strained voice.

_I have him now._

“Then do it”, Tom says with a silky tone, and Chris responds with a quick jerk of his hips.

“Yea? Are you sure? Be sure.”

Tom bites his lip and wriggles his hips suggestively. He can take this.

Chris growls, satisfied, and straightens himself up, again balancing himself on his knees. Quickly, he positions Tom’s bottom to his liking and grips Tom’s hips, fingers pressing into his flesh.

With a grunt, Chris rolls his hips slowly, sliding deep and steady into Tom. He pulls back again, and this time presses forward all the way, carefully holding Tom’s hips in place and not stopping until his fully sheathed inside him in a single firm stroke.

“Oh”, He pants brokenly.

Tom eyes roll back in their sockets and he bites onto the pillow at the abrupt invasion into his body. The stinging burn is making him dizzy, but Chris’s hold onto him is fierce and hot, making the pain delve into a sweet, sharp feeling of contentment. He likes it.

Chris starts moving his hips back and forth, each thrust rapid and full, pulling himself out and then back inside, rocking their bodies together.

“So warm and tight.”, He mutters and brings his hand to grip Tom’s neck with his fingers.

His hips increase their pace, thrusting in and out of Tom with vigor, and Chris is seemingly lost. Holding onto Tom’s neck and hips, he pounds into Tom over and over, pulling his cock out only to shove it back into the willing body in front of him with no pause.

He is taking me, Tom thinks wildly between the rough thrusts as Chris’s fingers tighten around the back of his neck. The notion is so strong, of being held like this by Chris, no other, and Tom moans with odd satisfaction. The stinging pain of being stretched and filled has subsided into a burning sweet fullness, and the blood rushes again into his loins.

“I’m so close.”, Chris’s rasps, his breathing ragged and short, and his movements turn into quick, skin slapping thrusts.  Bringing one of his palms to grip Tom’s hips and the other to his shoulder, Chris’s hips jerk a few more times and then he comes with grunt, cock pulsing inside Tom’s flesh.

His iron grip unrelenting, he thrusts into Tom a few more times, his motions possessive, taking.

Eventually, His movements die out, and while gasping for air, his fingers release their tight grip on Tom’s body, and he slowly pulls out of him.

Heart thrumming in his chest, Tom groans into the pillow at the sharp loss.

Chris leaves the bed and a muffled rustle of latex echos through the room as he disposes of the condom.  

The bed dips next to him, and Tom, who lowered himself back to his stomach, turns his face to the side to see Chris, now wearing his briefs again, climbing on the bed and pulling a thin sheet to cover Tom’s lower back and bare arse, making Tom smirk at Chris’s unexpected sense of propriety.

Chris settles down on his back next to him, brings his wrist to wipe some of the sweat from him forehead and leaves is there. He scratches his chest absently, then stares quietly at the ceiling, eyes glassy.

Tom is not exactly the cuddly type. He does not embrace his partner into his arms after sex in the intention of falling asleep huddled together unless she is the one to initiate it. That is not to say that he considers himself a cold lover, for he does bestow kisses and sweet chatting after doing the deed. Embracing someone into sleep, though, rarely feels like what he really desires, and so he usually compromises for more light weight endearments.

Itching to reach his hand to Chris’s chest, he moves his arm from beneath his body and tries to roll to his side, ending up hissing at the burning sensation shooting up from his rear.

Chris, torn from his reverie, quickly looks at him with a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“A little sore, I think.”, Tom says, unable to decide whether this embarrasses him or not. He settles back onto his stomach, breathing lowly through his nose until the pain subsides a little.

Chris stares at him for a few long, awkward moments, appearing to cautiously contemplate his next actions. Eventually, he turns to his side and lifts his head from the pillow. Tentatively, he places his palm on the sheet covering Tom’s lower back. His touch is warm and Tom closes his eyes in contentment.

“Is this normal?”

“What is?”

“This… soreness. Does it usually feel like this afterwards?”

Tom smirks again and a chuckle escapes his lips, coming out a little bitter. He opens his eyes.

“How should I know?”

Chris says nothing and continues to stare at him dumbly, his eyes widening a little.

Starting to feel his nerves being piqued under the scrutiny, Tom raises his brow in disapproval. He is about to make a somewhat scathing remark when a thought dawns on him and he looks Chris straight in the eye.

“You think I’ve done this before.”

Slowly, Chris nods at him.

Subdued, Tom feels a strange sadness creeping up his spine but does not let it show.

“Well, you’re wrong then.”

Chris’s lips part slowly, but not a sound leaves his mouth. A series of emotions seem to wash over him as his brows furrow and his eyes harden. At last he swallows and works his jaw a few times until he sighs and squeezes Tom’s arm in a manner which resembles pity far too much, shaking his head in discomfort.

At this, some delicate balance in Tom’s heart snaps into pieces and he lifts his body from the bed, all pains forgotten, and he bats Chris’s hand off him.

“Wipe that expression off your face, Chris, it suits you ill”

Stunned, Chris freezes at Tom’s outburst and looks down at his hand hanging in the air, then back at Tom. He shrugs in confusion and opens his mouth to answer, but Tom cuts him off. The pain is so sudden and it kicks its way straight out of his chest.

“We are both grown men Chris, do not think me for an inane, lightheaded seventeen-year-old virgin who cannot make decisions for himself.”

Sighing audibly, Chris drops back to the bed in resignation, knocking the back of his head into the pillow once, twice.

“The only _inane_ person here is me Tom”

“As you will. Just don't give me that pitiful look again.”

“...Pitiful?” Chris chokes.

Swallowing audibly, Chris brings his palm to his face and rubs his eyes.

“It hurts me to see you in pain, Tom, alright? I didn’t think...ugh”

Tom bites his lip and breaths deeply, calming himself. Chris is being an idiot, but he is right in a way. Tom would have never visibly reacted like this had he slept with a woman then watched her writhing with pain right afterwards, but he would have almost certainly felt guilty about it.

Still, Chris’s reaction to the revelation of this being Tom’s first full intercourse with a man  hurts like an arrow to the shoulder.

Feeling exhausted but certainly not interested in a quarrel, he lets his body sink back to the mattresses, the pain in his rear still throbbing but now sated with the recent sudden rush of their small argument.

The air is tense between them for long moments as they lie next to each other until Chris mutters a small apology which Tom accepts with a nod. He lies still, his mind whispering to him that his own behavior was somewhat disproportionate as well, but says nothing as the insult still stings.

Listening to Chris’s even breathing, Tom’s eyes grow heavy. He dozes for a few minutes when he feels fingers gently tugging his own.

He opens his eyes and sees Chris leaning on his elbow, looking at him intently.

His eyes travel Chris’s bare chest before anything else, as if it’s the most natural thing to do, it and he chuckles sharply, embarrassed.

The man is utterly beautiful.

Tom brushes Chris’s fingers with his own, gently coaxing them to entangle together.

“I have to go back home.”

_...to my family_ , Tom mentally completes the unfinished sentence. The burn in his rear and lower back is nothing compared to the pang of loss and disappointment that surrounds him all at once.

_Just this night_ , that was Tom’s rash promise to himself.

Folding his heart onto itself and shoving it into a small box, Tom forces a tight smile.

“Then I would consider taking a shower if I were you, Chris. You smell like me.”

The corners of Chris’s mouth do rise, but his eyes were wary and cautious. Feeling bold, Tom raises himself to Chris and kisses him deeply. It feels wonderful.

When he is done, he pinches Chris’s side and playfully urges him to go until he does, leaving Tom to search for his clothes, body shivering in the cool night’s air.

 

\-------

Chris straightens up after wearing his shoes and takes the offered cup of water from Tom’s hand, emptying it in a single long sip.

He smells of fresh soap and, Tom chuckles at this -, some toothpaste.

Chris wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, reminding Tom of some lone mountain man, and his chuckle turns into a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, you’re funny.”

Sweetly flustered, Chris bristles and smiles at him, his cheeks reddening a little.

Distracted by the unexpected blush, Tom struggles a little with what to say until Chris beats him to it.

“I’m really sorry I have to leave so soon.”, he says, obviously cringing at his own words.

Indeed, few phrases could beat this one in terms of banality, but Tom senses he is telling the truth - had he could, Chris would have stayed for a little longer.

He could not claim his own wits to be sharper, though, for all he can think of as a reply is that he wished Chris did not leave just yet, but the request feels too awkward on his tongue to materialize.

“I understand, truly. We’re ok. Go home and let everyone know you are alright.”

Chris nods, then brings up his hand and brushes Tom’s cheek with the back of his fingers and gently cups his jaw.

Tom rubs his cheek against the touch, just a little, and feels that sentiment, that bittersweet ache settle again into his bones. He does not want him to leave, not so soon.

“I’m sorry for your friend Mark.”

Chris says nothing and only continues to caress his face, fatigue invading his eyes and something else, something sharp that sets his features straighter.

“Me too,” He murmurs then leans his face forward. Their lips touch and Tom sighs into his mouth.

Their kiss is not prolonged as Chris ends it too soon and on a whim, Tom brings his arms around his neck and pulls him for a close hug. He will miss this.

Chris chuckles again and runs his hand through Tom’s curls, making him purr against his shoulder.

“Good night Tom.”

Tom releases him, his arms slow in their departure as if bidding goodbye the man’s warmth.

Chris he hefts his bag onto his shoulder and pulls the door open. He steps out into the stairs room then turns to look at Tom again with some concern.

“Call me if you need anything, ok?”

Tom nods and mutters back a soft good night. He feels suffocated, and suddenly he wants Chris to be gone.

The door closes with a low click and Tom stands, rooted to the floor, listening to the receding sound of Chris climbing down the stairs.

Sniffing the air around himself, his nose wrinkles at his own dense, musky odor.

Inevitably, he will have to wash himself clean, better sooner than later.

The bed sheets, though… The sheets he will keep filthy and raw.

 ****  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nights in white satin, never reaching the end.  
> Letters I've written - never meaning to send
> 
> Beauty I've always missed with these eyes before.
> 
> Just what the truth is,  
> I can't say anymore.
> 
>  
> 
> [ Nights In White Satin - The Moody Blues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9muzyOd4Lh8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone :)
> 
> Before we dive in, two quick reminders - 
> 
> 1\. Mark was Chris's close friend from the past who was sick with cancer.
> 
> 2\. When Chris came to visit Mark in the hospital, Mark told him that he had recently divorced his wife and now lived with his new male spouse - Howard.
> 
> This information is told through in chapter 3.

**The past**

  


Getting to know each other at their late teens, Chris Hemsworth and Mark Bennett had grown to become very close friends.

  
Most importantly, they had grown to trust each other.

 

\-----

 

Chris was a good boy in his youth. His terribly moderate grades in high school he had only come to repent when he was long past the age of twenty, but in his essence, Chris was a decent, if sometimes cheeky, good boy.

 

When Chris was fourteen years old he met Milo through mutual friends, a boy at the same age as him. They’ve come to like each other immediately - and soon became friends as well.

 

They surfed together, walked home together from school, talked about their girlfriends and other nice looking girls they spotted on the beach, even watched the sunset together when they got the chance.

 

Their joined time together was pure joy for Chris, and when he started to enjoy watching Milo’s face when he spoke, feel his belly tingle when their limbs brushed as they walked side by side and smile at hearing the boy’s voice when he called out to him, Chris thought nothing of it.

 

It was one day in the surfing equipment store when Chris took Milo by the hand towards the surfing boards display, that suddenly his thumb started to tenderly slide back and forth over the back of Milo’s palm.

 

It felt pleasant. Pleasant and warm. Warm enough to cause Chris to slowly pull his hand away from Milo’s once he realized what he was doing.

 

Of this too, he had thought nothing at first, deliberately shoving the event out of his mind.

 

But sometimes during his nights, when it was so dark Chris could not see his own silhouette in the privacy of his room, that sensation of Milo’s skin beneath his thumb returned to him, making Chris bare his teeth under the covers, as if trying to chase these notions away.

 

Many of those sensations related to Milo, that strange touch, Chris’s lingering looks and stupid excitement - all of it felt odd and suspicious.

 

And above all, it was frightening. Deep inside, Chris was terrified of what those happenings might mean.

 

It meant naught, Chris insisted with himself. A passing flare of confusion which would evaporate with time and get solved by itself.

 

Determined with his conclusions, Chris hadn’t uttered a single word about the subject to anyone. Now aware himself, he vouched to never touch Milo’s hand again.

 

He even tried to push Milo away, believing that ending their friendship would be for the best, but as the time passed and the pleasantness of the boy’s company insisted to endure, Chris slowly surrendered and let himself enjoy what he deemed proper with Milo within the borders of innocent friendship. They ended up sharing so many laughs and good times together that for a while he was certain that the strange emotion had disappeared and been replaced with good-natured affection.

 

Keeping true to his habits, it was only behind the curtains of the night’s privacy that Chris knew he never stopped hoping for a chance to spend an evening alone with his friend - watching an action flick on TV in his room, sitting just a tad close enough to brush his knee against Milo’s here and there.

 

Rarely, even his most vicious guards slipped, allowing Chris to chance giving Milo a gentle, warm tug to his arm on their way home from the beach.

  
  


\-----

  
  
  


After a year and a half of wonderful friendship, Milo’s family moved away to England in favor of better professional opportunities for Milo’s father.

 

The boys kept their friendship close until the very day of their imminent separation. They had shared their first genuine hug back then, as Chris embraced his friend with all his might, murmuring that he will miss him, his voice whispered into the cloth covering Milo’s shoulder.

 

It was the closest Chris has ever gotten to tell Milo about his nagging doubts, his sensations and questions.

 

Other than that, gripped by fear, Chris had chosen silence.

  
  


\-----

  
  


The three years following to Milo’s departure had taught Chris an interesting lesson about life.

 

He had learned that curiosity must be satisfied, or one may experience some consequences both to his mind and body.

 

Chris was an eighteen-year-old youth, and he wanted to _know_.

 

He came to satisfy his curiosity with a twenty-seven-year-old german male expatriate who used to spend his free time on the same beach as Chris did, just a few months before Chris left for college. Preceded by a month of supposedly innocent bantering, the two men shared a single night of bodies pressed tight, moving and rutting, both of them chasing pleasure to exhaustion.

 

They had managed to remain friendly with each other afterwards, even shared two more nights together, humid with sweat and loud with silence, but after those Chris refused to share more of the same conduct with the man and eventually ended their acquaintance with some refreshing truth, telling the man he was not interested in anything serious.

 

 _That’s it_ , Chris told himself afterwards. _Now I know, and no more._

 

\----

  
  


Chris is twenty-one years old when he and his girlfriend - Olivia, decide to go separate ways after almost a year of a relationship.

 

He does not say much during the talk and descends to complete silence after the door to Olivia’s flat closes behind him. Numb minded, he drives his car to the nearest beach, kills the engine and stares to the edge of the sea in front of him.

 

The ocean’s horizon is black and blurry, much like his mind.

 

Olivia’s face flashes before him. Chris recalls the gifts he has given her, the sweet words she has whispered to him. He remembers their arguments, the useless shouting matches, and sighs. She is a lovely girl, and he shall miss her.

 

When the memories cease to float from the back of his mind and Chris senses the car cooling down along with the wind blowing outside, he feels it is time to go home. His body remains still in its sitting position, though, and Chris breathes deeply as the minutes pass and the absence of sound rings in his ears.

 

The sky is a black infinite dotted with stars, the ocean seems calm though it never is, and Chris thinks of Milo.

 

His throat tightens, and Chris drops his head to his chest.

 

_I should have treated you better._

 

\----

 

Chris meets Mark a few days later in their usual sitting place, a cozy little pub, attempting to discuss a few nagging final projects and share some friendly chat after the formalities will have been taken care of.

 

Chris feels better - or so he thinks, the skin of his palm feeling dry and rough as he gestures the bartender to fetch him some over sized pint of beer.

 

Mark, who is a little more than five years older than Chris, is no fool.

 

“What’s going on mate,” he says with a warm smile, squeezing Chris’s shoulder, “Tell me.”

 

Chris shrugs, says all is well, and Mark nods at him and pats his back - “I’ll be patient then.”

 

Chris nods his thanks, and for a while they sip their drinks silently until Chris feels calm enough to talk again.

 

Mark is the only man Chris has ever met who is capable of being both sensitive and smart enough to be a man about it at the same time. He closes his eyes, lowers his head - and lets himself be comforted. For one night - some small part of his precious walls tip aside and let his friend in, just a little bit.

 

“If the story with Olivia bothers you so much, then knock on her door until she opens it and listens to you.”

 

“It’s not about her,” Chris says with a sigh and Mark nods again, looking as if he guessed as much.

 

Chris takes his time, his mouth sensing sewn shut.

 

“I had this friend once, a boy named Milo,” he begins, his fingers pressing tight onto his half empty pint.

 

He tells Mark about their good times together, about the immediate enticement that sprung between them, causing them to befriend each other soon after they first met.

 

“And sometimes, for my own selfish reasons, I tried pushing him away from me, threw some nasty words at him,” Chris does not say why - “So much of a friend I was.”

 

He chuckles, his lips pursed into a smile.

 

“He didn’t give up on me, though, and we withstood my lousy attitude.”

 

Chris shakes his head, feeling ludicrous. After all these years….

 

“We were best friends for quite a while, we’ve been through so much together, and I’ve never… ugh.”

 

He traces the brim of his pint with his index finger, swallowing with some difficulty. He isn’t sure what he is trying to say, only knows that some of this needs to come out.

 

“I’ve never told him how much he had meant… to me.”

 

The two men continue to nurse their drinks quietly, and Chris ponders the words he’s just said, hoping he didn’t say too much.

 

He risks a quick glance to Mark’s face and sees that his friend is watching him, confused, but not judgemental. His eyes look bigger than usual, a little scared. Eventually he huffs a nervous laugh, empties his pint and touches Chris’s shoulder again, smiling warmly at him.

 

What Mark was thinking, Chris did not know, and he left it at that.

 

“It’s ok mate. You were but a boy.”

 

Chris nods and smiles back, wanting to move on. It was all behind him now.

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

“So, tell me more of that fiancé of yours…,” he laughs, genuinely curious, “Did you actually get on your knees? You’re a prince, let me tell you, a true prince.”

  
  


\----

 

**The day before Tiffany’s birthday party in Tom’s house, morning time**

 

Howard, Mark’s spouse, called Chris at exactly 7 am in the morning. He was brisk and quick about it on the phone.

 

“He woke up with a headache, the doctors sedated him, meaning to cease his pain… and that was it Chris. It was enough for him.”

 

Chris adjusted his hold on the cell phone close to his ear, blinking rapidly and clearing his throat.

 

What?

 

“...What? What did you say?” His voice was hoarse, falling into a whisper.  

 

Howard sighed, the sound of a nervous nose snuffle echoed through cell phone and itched Chris’s ear.

 

“Mark’s not with us Chris. It was enough.”

 

On his way to the car, Chris’s faltering steps came to a full stop in the middle of the street.

 

He did not reply. Not at first. He shook his head at nothing, not believing, his face contorted into a muscle straining frown and his lips parted and closed again and again with no sound coming out. He refused to reply, refused to listen.

 

“We will bury him tomorrow afternoon. You are more than welcome to attend -”, a pause.

 

“I think he would have been happy to know you were there.”

 

As pale as a ghost, Chris muttered a weak consent and ended the conversation, having heard enough.

 

With his legs heavy and his mouth tasting of led, Chris went through his working day under a cloak of well-mannered professionalism. His throat thick with bile, he spoke as little as possible.

 

He barely slept that night, and when he did manage to rest, he dreamed.

 

In his dreams, Chris is lost, cannot find his way through his childhood house halls, frantically looking for the way out and calling his friend Mark for help.

  
  


\------

  
  


**The day of the party.**

 

The next day at early noon, Chris forced his lunch down hastily, preparing himself for the long ride to Mark’s hometown. He had spent his day in a rush after his agent managed to squeeze most of the day’s obligations into the morning hours.

 

About to start the car’s engine, Chris took one look at his cell phone before setting the GPS to his destination. After neglecting it for the last two days, he clicked his tongue as he noticed more than a few unread messages and a missed call from Tom.

 

He paused.

 

That party Tom has been arranging for quite some time now, it was supposed to take place today. Tonight.

 

Chris exhaled tiredly. He had not been all that excited about this party since the first time Tom had mentioned it.

 

He should have offered Tom that instead of showing up to the party he could take him out for a drink, just the two of them. He would have taken him home afterwards, gotten some of those cocky smiles out of him or perhaps even a faint blush, and call it a night. That would have been so much nicer, and quieter.

 

Chris glanced at the car’s clock and rubbed his eyes. Already his fatigue was starting to wear up on him, and the entire road towards Mark’s funeral location was still waiting ahead.

 

He had been doubtful about attending this party on the first place, and now, along with the current unexpected circumstances… Chris ran his palm across his stubble.

 

He would probably look like a dingy street resident after he came back from the funeral anyway.

 

He considered calling Tom to let him know he was not going to show up after all but dismissed the idea. The Brit would probably notice his distraught tone and might ask him questions he was not yet ready to answer.

 

He started the car’s ignition and took a hold of the steering wheel, then hesitated.

 

He was not sure of what he felt, or what he did not. Beyond the pain of his loss lay great uncertainty.

 

A part of him regretted meeting Mark in the hospital all those weeks ago, coming to know of the change in Mark’s personal life, about his male spouse, about his marriage. That part of Chris’s soul wanted to leave it all behind him, disremember everything he had discovered about his friend and concentrate on his current life and routine.

 

But… Those dreams.

 

The dreams that kept gripping his mind and body at night…. Chris swore under his breath.

 

Helpless. He was helpless against his own restlessness.

 

Taking hold of his mobile again, he wrote Tom a message, telling him he was still not sure whether he would join the celebration tonight.

 

Pushing the device back into his back pocket, Chris stretched his neck and winced. His whole body was stiff.

 

He was afraid, dreading the burial ceremony and what he might find there.

 

Chris forced his eyes to open wide, and drove away.

 

\----------------

 

It was a beautiful, sun filled day.

 

Wearing his customary cap and black sunglasses, among the numerous unfamiliar faces Chris recognized Adaline, Mark’s ex-wife. He did not approach her at first. Instead, he let himself observe her from a considerable distance.

 

He could not decide whether he was interested or not in knowing what was running through her head as she politely greeted guests and family surrounding her with pursed lips, and for long moments Chris stood still at his corner, his gaze lingering on Adaline.

 

“Chris.”

 

Shaken out of his little reverie, Chris turned to the origin of the voice, and after a moment of confusion recognized Howard. He immediately reached for a handshake, deliberately not to paying extra attention to the man’s bloodshot eyes and puffed cheeks. After looking at Adaline, he felt he’s had his share of people staring for the day.

 

“Howard. My condolences,” said Chris as he shook the man’s hand as warmly as he could.

 

The man looked grim, but strangely at peace.

 

There was so much that Chris could tell him. That he’s sorry that Mark and he had so little time together, that the very fact that they had chosen to be together despite Mark’s illness and him being previously married with a family… Chris could hardly fathom the honesty and endurance Mark must have had to bear - but the words were corked in his belly, blocked by walls of wariness. Howard was not Mark, was not his friend.

 

“Thank you for contacting me. I am not sure when I would have heard of this if you hadn’t.”

 

Howard nodded quietly and gave Chris one of his gentle smiles, a smile very similar to the one he had given him when they had first met and shook hands in the hospital, next to Mark’s bed. He was a good man.

 

He turned to look in the direction Chris was watching just a moment ago and, when he spotted Adaline, he hummed as if he was acknowledging something with himself, making Chris feel just slightly uneasy.

 

It occurred to Chris that Mark had told him that Adaline knew that he had been living with a man, but Chris had never asked whether she knew exactly who it was.

 

“How is she faring?” he asked after a moment, sensing it was unnecessary to feel out of place.

 

“I believe she will be ok. Same goes for their kids. They are not babies anymore.”

 

_I’m sure. It’s you I should be asking that question, shouldn’t I._

 

Wordlessly, the two men watched the crowd for a few more moments, and at the sight of these people, talking silently, courteously, all gathering in order to give their last respects for a man deceased, the finality of the situation started to sink into Chris’s mind.

 

Mark was dead.

 

He despised this. How could this be? How was it possible that a decent person, a man on his prime had to endure such a harsh disease and eventually have his life relinquished because of it?

 

And all of it felt so ironic, like a ghastly setting for tragic joke…

 

Mark was condemned to die so shortly after making such a life altering decision and finding some real peace.

 

What was that supposed to mean?

 

Should Mark had just let go of his heart’s wish and move on with the life he’d already built for himself? Should he have spared himself the shaky consequences for his choice for a spouse?

 

“Why did you agree to be with him?”, the question left his mouth before he recognized the hint of resentment forming in his belly that boiled the words out of him.

 

Anger. Chris was angry at this. At all of this.

 

“I mean, he was severely sick. How could you possibly agree to do this with him?”

 

Howard glanced at him, unfazed by Chris’s chagrin. He clearly understood what Chris was asking him.

 

He took a step closer and spoke in a low voice meant only for Chris’s ears.

 

“I had a choice. I could have either accepted him and his predicaments and have him by my side, or I could have pushed him away and keep myself in a safe distance from the probable risk of losing a lover to death from cancer.”

 

Howard took a deep breath through his nose then continued.

 

“You see Chris, I loved him. I wanted him. I still do. Had I chosen not to be with him and supposedly kept myself safe and distant, I would have spent the following years working down that bile of regret down my throat, making it through the harsh race of life with a hollow chest, full of doubts and unanswered questions.”

 

Chris turned to look at the man, no doubt appearing just as he felt at that moment - a little gobsmacked, and blinked. He did not expect such honesty. In fact, he hardly expected a serious answer to his question at all.

 

“I have paid a heavy price for each time I let my fears and arrogant logic lead my decisions in life. By the time I understood that Mark and I had a chance together, for however brief period of time, I knew perfectly well that I’ve paid enough. I gripped onto the opportunity for happiness as fiercely as I could.”

 

Howard tilted his head and looked straight into Chris’s eyes.

 

“I took what I wanted, and I gave back just as much.”

 

The man’s shoulders we slumped, his eyes were red from tears and his lips were tight from stinging grief, but his chin was held high. He was proud, Chris realized, and felt a surge of jealousy take over him.

 

He felt his cheeks heat under the man’s fierce words and shook his head, thinking he should have kept his mouth shut.

 

What was he supposed to say to such honesty? Obviously the man was in no need for any further assurance from anyone that he had done the right choice for himself, probably for Mark as well.

 

“I am glad you made it to be together,” was the most sensible thing to say, Chris thought weakly.

 

Howard nodded, as if aware of Chris’s withdrawal and turned to gaze back at the hassling crowd.

 

After a few moments of silence Chris assumed their conversation was over and made to search for an available cup of water. He wanted to find some place quiet to rearrange his thoughts.

 

“He was very keen on telling you. About us, that is.”, Howard said suddenly, his forehead crinkled as if deep in thought.

 

Chris halted.

 

“He did not bother with many people about this subject. But with you…”

 

Inhaling deeply, Chris maintained his right to remain silent for the moment.

 

Chris tried not to think too much of the reason for which Mark had chosen to inform him of his choice to live with Howard, but he soon admitted to himself he might as well try not to stare at a white elephant standing in the same room as him.

 

Mark must have suspected back then, or perhaps even fully understood what Chris had been talking about when he tried to share some of his burdens some years ago after his breakup from Olivia in that pub.

 

Mark saw him struggling, contemplating - and must have put some pieces together about Chris’s past. As their personal life progressed and took each of them to separate ways and distanced their relationship Mark might not have known how to approach Chris regarding the matter, and when he learned that his time was short…

 

Chris wondered for the first time if Howard was the first man Mark ever felt attracted to, or might he had some of these beyond platonic notions about men beforehand, perhaps even when he had proposed marriage to his now ex-wife…

 

It was difficult for him just as it was difficult for Chris, only Mark had chosen the resolute path of action about it, whereas Chris had chosen to put it behind him.

 

Chris blinked at Howard. It didn’t matter anymore. The man was dead.

 

"We were close back in the day,"  he finished blandly.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Howard muttered under his breath then nodded with the same empty air.

 

\----

 

The funeral neared its end with Chris occupying a spot behind the major group of the crowd. He was watching the coffin brought to the fresh grave from a distance, hands deep in his pockets, eyes and heart vacant.

 

The priest's timid prayers barely reached Chris's ears as he served the cemetery with his eyes - blossoming trees, green grass, and a gentle breeze gifted the area as eerily beautiful.

 

Howard was nowhere to be seen.

 

The crowd began to scatter as the prayers ended and the coffin was lowered to the grave. Chris stayed rooted to his spot. He watched silently as the only remaining people nearby the grave were Mark’s close family. Mark’s children were hugging each other, murmuring support to each other, then gazing back to the grave with big, teary eyes. Adaline was also standing nearby, her hand pressing a handkerchief to her mouth and nose. She then brought her fingers to her lips and blew a shaky kiss at the direction of the grave, whispering a few quiet words of goodbye. Her children gathered around her, and together, they slowly walked away.

 

Chris watched them go until he spotted a movement from behind one of the trees.

 

Quietly, Howard emerged from behind the tree’s log. He walked towards the grave, stared at it wordlessly, then, slowly fell to his knees, his head bent low. Gradually, the man’s shoulders began to shake and his gentle sobs filled the clean air.

 

“Oh Mark, oh sweetheart”, he whispered, his back bending lower and lower with each pull of his chest until his forehead almost touched the ground, his tender words sent into the earth.

 

Hands fisting in his pockets, Chris’s legs took him forward, until he crouched on his heels next to Howard, and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.

 

He could not tell for how long they had stayed there. What he did remember later was the sunset’s romantic shades lazily coloring the graveyard around them and the cool wind whooshing in his ears, causing his cheeks to redden with the cold, and his dry eyes to sting.

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


The ride back home was his and his alone.

 

Within the privacy of his car, ugly tears sometimes attacked his face when a memory of Mark went through his mind or when he recalled Howard's shoulder shaking beneath his palm, and each time he let the tears trail his face as they cooled down until they dripped from his chin to his shirt.

 

Nearing town, he called Elsa, asking for her and the kids. Deciding he needed some time to compose himself before coming home, he told her he would only get home a few hours later.

 

Hearing this, his wife asked him if he was going to Tom's party. That made him stop in his tracks, suddenly confused.

 

The party. That silly party.

 

Recovering, Chris told his wife he was still considering the option.

 

They both exchanged endearments over the phone, and the conversation ended. Chris slowed down the car and parked it nearby a small gas station. Not bothering to wear his cap for the place was nearly deserted, he threw his head on the back of his seat with a groan and rubbed his sticky face. His moist eyes squinted at the maturing sunset.

 

His phone vibrated against his hip, and a quick glance at it showed a message received a few hours ago was still unread. Sweeping the button to get rid of it, Chris skimmed the text hurriedly with his eyes.

 

_‘Should you decide to drag your busy arse over tonight, that cheesy English beer you like so much is waiting for you in the fridge.’_

 

It was from Tom.

 

A low hum emerged from his throat as he read the message again and his belly rounded with a heated spark, energy so different from the recent grim sensations he’s been surrounded by for the last two days.

 

Chris wanted to see him.

 

Tom did not have to know about Mark, not right away. Chris could ask him to have a drink alone with him, and he might agree. They would go somewhere quiet in that medium size yet fancy apartment of his, and have that nice cool beer Tom wrote to him about.

 

Chris could have the man all for himself, even if just for a few moments. He would look at him, at how pretty that eccentric Brit is, and allow his chest to release some of the growing density within it.

 

They could talk about whatever it is that came to mind, as Tom always fell easily into chatter with him. They would share a few drinks, Chris would fire some gibes about anything that might get Tom worked up a little and then…

 

And then nothing. That’s it.

 

Chris would do nothing more than that with him. Tom would never know. Nothing will change.

 

His fingers clenched and with a low snarl he landed his right fist onto the wheel, itching for the blunt pain to soothe some other burn inside him.

 

He was a bloody coward with dried tears on his face.

 

“Fine.”, he muttered and started the engine again. He brought a spare shirt and he was going to use it.

  
  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  


**Present time**

 

The night was at its peak. The sky were entirely black and the air was cold and rigid as no wind was blowing.

 

Chris sat in his car, his deep breaths slowly covering the car’s windows with obscuring gray moisture.

 

The car’s internal space was cold, but his body was warm and his loins still thrummed with an odd, sensitive buzz.

 

His fingers were shaking when he tried to insert the car keys into the key slot a few minutes ago, and after hitting the keys with anything but the keyhole along with a few curses and grunts spilled into the air, he opted for several moments of silence in the car - so he could at least try and regain his composure.

 

Tom hadn’t had the chance to shower before he left, and Chris remembered how Tom looked as they both bid each other goodnight - Utterly ravished.

 

Releasing a shaky breath, Chris wiped his mouth with his palm, his lips still tingling with the last kiss he shared with Tom before he left the apartment.

 

Glancing to the right, he spotted his gray shirt - the one he wore for Mark’s funeral. It was still carelessly thrown on the seat next to him, found in a pitiful state - rumpled and probably smelly, hanging on the seat’s edge, one of it’s sleeves grazing the car’s floor.

 

He breathed deeply, inhaled the night’s scent - and closed his eyes.

 

It was probably the way Tom smiled upon seeing him enter his apartment that hit home. The Brit looked so happy to see him, white teeth showing through his smile and flushed cheeks, striking Chris as a complete contrast to the grief that gripped him.

 

The man looked alive and vibrant, excited and giddy - and Chris could only watch him talk, laugh and chat with his friends - seeing with his own eyes that life does in fact move on, regardless of another one’s pain and loss, regardless of one’s cowardice and even bravery. Regardless of everything.

 

He had thought his visit would only last for a few minutes, just so he could see Tom, see his face, have that beer with him, tell him he looked very handsome for his silly party - and head home.

 

It was the sight of Tom and that lady - Tiffany, dancing, hugging, kissing, that kept him around, kept him staring.

 

It was far beyond jealousy, this sensation that pulled him further and further down the wormhole. He felt like Tom was slapping him in the face by holding that lady in his arms, laughing at him for being a coward.

 

It was like looking in the face of consequence.

 

_I will never have this with him. I will never even be able to go and ask for it._

 

He cursed Mark’s choice to tell him about him and Howard, then cursed himself for cursing Mark.

 

Why would that son of a bitch tell me this, what the hell did he think he was doing. Was he trying to play with my mind?

 

He was livid. Furious at Fate for taking his friend from him so brutally. Furious at Tom - for being the first genuinely attractive man he had met in years. He was torn, for he was committed to marriage and he selfishly wanted Tom for himself. For he did not know how to follow where his body wanted to go.

 

Unable to watch Tom and Tiffany any further and unable to leave at the same time, Chris crashed on one of the couches (one that blocked any visual of Tom and his lady) and opted for more alcohol to take the edge off his frustration, and indulged himself with more useless, air filled conversations with women and curious guys from their current shooting staff and other guests he hardly recognized.

 

And he was so very tired.

 

\---

  
  
  


When Chris opened his eyes to an empty living room and saw Tom comfortably tucked on his couch watching TV on mute, he _knew_ , deep in his gut, that he had overstayed his welcome.

 

Thinking back now, that moment, that exact moment upon waking up stiff and groggy and remembering everything - that Mark is dead and that he despised it, that Tom danced and kissed with that woman whom might be sleeping in his bedroom right now, and that he despised the latter one with even more spite - that moment was his cue to leave.

 

He should have left right away, splash his face with cold water and kick every last bit of doubt and spiked need off the stairs and close that door of uncertainty behind him.

 

He stayed.

 

He stayed and that prickling Tom succeeded in wrenching his mess out of his mouth, then told Chris how _brave_ he was.

 

Chris was so tired, so helpless, so angry - he wanted to get rid of it all. He wanted a chance, just a single, small chance of honesty, of living what can never be, a chance to give rest to his questions and needs by taking harsh answers from reality.

 

And Tom came to stand so close to him, placing his hand on his shoulder…

 

Chris wanted him.

 

Tom’s mouth opened up for him, and he let Chris have both his warm body and some answers to his questions - that touching him, taking him - felt good, warm, and it soothed him. Chris’s anger crumbled into pleasure and gentleness faster than he would have ever predicted.

 

“Madness… It was madness,” he whispered into the cold air inside his car.

 

It was not the best sex experience he’d had in his life, but no doubt it was the most intense one. He has long ago forgotten the sensation of a male bodice next to his.

 

Similar to the growing urge of the past months to spend an increasing amount of time with Tom, the taste of his mouth and body felt so strange, so alarming in the way his impulse to feel more of him drove Chris on and on - well past his guilt and hesitations.

 

Chris took him, told Tom how beautiful he was as best as he could - and he liked it. Every sinful, questionable, secretive moment.

 

It was the burning truth.

 

Thunder boomed in the sky, but Chris barely stirred a muscle. In a matter of seconds, rain poured from the sky, tapping the windows viciously.

 

Tom claimed that was his first time at this.  

 

Chris felt like a thief. A thief who could not bring himself to regret his crime.

 

Chris sucked in a breath and licked his lips. He would have taken Tom once, twice more if he could stay longer.

 

He glanced at the car’s clock and winced. It was two am in the morning.

 

His fingers were still shivering, but he tried inserting the key to the ignition slot anyway - this time with success.

 

The engine came to life, coughed a few times then got back to running normally again, and Chris thought it sounded as uncertain as he was.

 

A ragged street dog - Tom called him that. That little prick was sometimes so honest and cutting - trying and mostly succeeding steering Chris out of his poised composure.

 

Chris pushed down the gas pump with his foot and lead the car into the main road.

 

After he parked the car beneath his residence building, Chris left the vehicle, not bothering with an umbrella. The rain poured and wet his face for the second time that day, soaking his clothes and hair, but Chris did not mind the cold, for his body was flowing with excess energy.

 

His mind was whirling with guilt, but Chris felt warm.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. This chapter was difficult to write. Chris is a real challenge, is he not :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scar tissue that I wish you saw  
> Sarcastic mister know it all  
> Close your eyes and I'll kiss you 'cause  
> With the birds I'll share  
> This lonely view...
> 
>  
> 
> [ Scar Tissue - Red Hot Chilly Peppers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzJj5-lubeM)

**The morning following to the night of the party in Tom's house**

 

 

The first notion that rushed through his mind was a sense of forgetfulness.

 

Tom stirred and opened his eyes. He has forgotten something.

 

He snatched his cell phone from the cabinet, squinted at the clock digits and felt his eyes widen.

 

It was late. Was he late for a meeting? An interview? A photo shoot?

 

Tom rose to a sitting position on the bed, rubbed his forehead and pinched his eyes.

 

_Hold on a moment. Relax._

 

He wasn't late for anything. It was Tuesday, and the day's shooting would start only at noon, he remembered. He had relied on this schedule when he and Tiffany had settled for a date for the party a few weeks ago.

 

Tom dropped himself back on the mattress with a tired grunt. With his nerves still running on an edge, any chances for further sleep were ruined.

 

He let his eyes adjust to the sun coming in from the window then stretched his arms above his head, arched his back and licked his chapped lips.

 

Listening to the sound of his own breathing, Tom turned his head until his cheek rested on the pillow and looked towards the other side of the bed. It was empty.

 

His eyes roamed over the pillow and down over the length of the mattress. The rays of sunlight spilling from the window colored the rumpled bed sheets so differently than the pale light of the night moon.

 

With the thump of his heartbeat echoing into his ear through the pillow, Tom took a small whiff of air, only tasting it, and wrinkled his nose.

 

Both him and his bed reeked of sweat and sex, and a shower was in order.

  


\------

  


Tom tied the towel around his waist and leaned towards the mirror, eyeing the slight stubble covering his cheeks and the skin below his eyes.

 

He appeared to be a little paler than usual, but overall he looked normal. Everything appeared as it should.

 

And yet, Tom felt somewhat like a stranger in his own body, as if something elementary has changed within him.

 

He stepped out of the bathroom, now wearing a light cotton t-shirt and his sweatpants, then turned to the kitchen in order to prepare himself a hot drink. He was not hungry, but he had to eat in order to keep himself alert through the day.

 

Sitting at his small kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee between his palms, Tom surveyed his apartment.

 

It wasn't sparkling clean, but somehow clean-wise passable. A few bottles of beer along with some plastic cups stood abandoned on the living room's table, another empty bottle of red wine rested on the floor next to the couch and some chairs he and Tiffany rearranged to lean on the wall last night were now, for an unknown reason, found on the floor. No food leftovers were anywhere to be seen anywhere though, and for that he was thankful.

 

The window was open, letting in the city's life sounds slip into the apartment, but other than the occasional car honk or a dull overheard human conversation, the flat was silent. The air felt cold as well.

 

Tom slowly nursed his coffee and nibbled on a sandwich he had spared for himself from yesterday’s party. He had two more hours to spend before he would leave for work, and the apartment felt strangely large to him.

 

He was drumming his fingers on the small table and contemplating going out for a morning jog when he heard the silent vibration of his cell phone sounding from the bedroom.

 

He emptied the rest of the coffee from his mug and clicked his tongue. He detested morning phone calls, and this was probably his agent, wanting to discuss some future projects and travelling arrangements. She sometimes called him in the early hours of the morning as he was scarcely available during the day for a decent conversation.

 

He entered the bedroom and let his ears guide him to the location of the noise of vibration.

 

Clearing his throat, Tom picked up the device from behind his pillow, glanced at the screen - and felt his throat catch.

 

Chris. The call was from Chris.

 

Tom ran a hand across his mouth and breathed through his fingers. He was not prepared for this.

 

Seeing his palm holding the device quiver a little he inhaled deeply and tried to put his mind to ease.

 

_Keep yourself together Thomas._

His finger swiped over the screen, and Tom took the call.

 

“Good morning.”

 

“Tom, hey...Good morning”

 

Background noises of what sounded like an urban area filled the conversation’s line.

 

“What’s up? Where are you?”

 

“I’m in my car now, on my way to Gwen.”

 

Ah, Chris’s agent. Was he going to discuss some long distance travelling options as well?

 

Tom licked his lips and nodded to the empty room.

 

He would excel in bouncy chats without breaking a sweat whenever he put his mind to it, could easily spare numerous cheeky phrases into the air along with a winning smile at any time he deemed necessary, but right then, Tom only closed his eyes and bowed his head as the low baritone of Chris’s voice caressed his ear.

 

“Sounds noisy out there,” he finished quietly.

 

“Morning traffic. Did I wake you up?” Chris asked. He sounded so casual.

 

“Not at all. I’ve been awake for a while. Did you manage to get some sleep?”

 

Tom winced a little at his question as soon as it left his mouth. He wasn’t really interested in knowing what the man did after he left his apartment last night.

 

Chris hesitated with his answer.

 

“I slept, yes,” he replied, then paused.

 

“Listen, I called because I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

 

Another pause, then Chris continued.

 

“Do you still feel sore? Are you in pain?”

 

Tom’s brows furrowed and his lips parted in a small wonder. This was very unexpected.

Quickly considering his options, he decided to go for simplicity and spare himself the blush.

 

“I’m fine, Chris. It only hurt for a short time.”

 

Which was not entirely true, he thought as he remembered the twinge of pain he felt from his rear in the shower just less than an hour ago. He did not mention it though. It was nothing.

 

Chris hummed quietly.

 

“Alright, that’s good to know.” he said.

 

Tom sat on his bed and lowered his head to his chest with the cell phone still pressed into his ears.

 

Regardless of the absurdity of what they’d shared yesterday, Chris was trying his best to be a gentleman about the whole issue. There was nothing wrong about it, but nevertheless, Tom found it was hard to swallow the man’s good intentions.

 

The line went quiet again and Tom looked around his bedroom.

 

The apartment had felt so quiet this morning. After waking up, he fixedly stared at the empty side of his bed and silently sniffed the air, secretly searching for remnants of Chris’s scent which might be still coming up from the linens. Tom’s own body felt peculiar to him while he walked down the hall.

 

He didn’t know what to say to Chris, and that made Tom feel weak. The man was being courteous, but Tom felt some resentment coming up from within in return.

 

“You know, with this being my first time and all, perhaps it got me all tense and jumpy.”

 

The background noises returned to dominate the conversation when Chris said nothing. Tom could imagine his expression changing into a slight frown, squinted eyes blinking in annoyance.

 

The silence stretched even further, and Tom groaned.

 

“What I mean is that you should not be worried about this Chris, alright? I am feeling fine.”

 

He waited for a reply, but the man still refused to answer.

 

“Chris?”

 

Eventually, Tom heard him clear his throat.

 

“Look, the last two days were rough on me and I think you stood in the line of fire and took some of it. I just wanted to make sure you are alright and that you are not upset anymore. Yesterday you said I pity you. I do not.”

 

Tom dropped to the bed on his back with a quiet thud and turned his head sideways, gazing at the empty side of the bed again.

 

_You should not have left so soon. Not right after we were done._

 

Chris cleared his throat again and sighed.

 

“I sound so dramatic, don’t I.”

 

Somehow, that did it. Tom broke into a large grin, the first one for that day, and chuckled with a genuine cheer.

 

“Oh yes, Absolutely.”

 

Chris joined his chuckle, and Tom closed his eyes.

 

Images of Chris pulling him close and kissing him for the first time flashed through Tom’s mind. How they stood there, his back pressed to the kitchen’s wall, Chris gripping him tight and Tom holding on for the ride. How he physically maneuvered Tom’s body into position according to his desire.

 

Chris’s hands felt wonderful on him.

 

“I know you are alright Tom, just - just call me if anything goes wrong.”

 

Tom snorted, hardly listening to Chris anymore.

 

He regretted nothing that happened between them. Absolutely nothing.

 

“How about you? How are you doing?” he asked, wanting to prolong the conversation just a little more. Their shared encounter was over, but he definitely enjoyed the extra attention and care. A phone call from Chris was a very rare commodity, as Chris’s reality and pesonality were very different from Tom’s.

 

“Is it safe to assume that you made it home with no trouble?”

 

“I’m in one piece,” was Chris’s sole answer, and Tom felt the man was ready to end their unexpected conversation.

 

“I will see you soon on the set, yes?”

 

_Kiss me again._

 

“Indeed. You drive safe Chris, we’ll be in touch.”

 

“Ok then-.”

 

Somewhat breathless, Tom did not bother to listen to the rest. He disconnected the conversation and let the device slip away from his fingers.

 

He felt a little suffocated again, just as he did last night after he saw Chris out of the apartment and remained rooted in place to stare at the door for long moments after the man left.

 

He could not recall the last time he had reacted like this towards another person.

 

This… This weakness had to stop. He was fawning over the man like a smitten teen, and it did him no good.

 

They had their single night together, and he would not mop over Chris. This was not who he was.

 

He stared at the pale ceiling for a what felt like a long time, until his cell phone rang in an alarm for a message.

 

Tom reached for his cell phone, his fingers shivering a little and he chided himself impatiently. The message was not from Chris, he could sense it.

 

It was an image. A photo taken during yesterday's party, showing him and Tiffany in a dancing stance, with the lady in question draping her arms around his neck and Tom holding her waist. They were smiling at each other, though Tom could not recall smiling so brightly at her at any point of the evening.

 

The sender was Tiffany herself, who added a small smiling face just beneath the image message.

 

She is a pretty thing, Tom thought. This could turn out to be good. Practical. _Agreeable_.

 

His fingers hovered over the cellphone’s keyboard for minutes and minutes, as if refusing to actually type the simple words he felt he should write.

 

A few drafts of messages were typed eventually, and with each of them he grew more and more unsatisfied until his patience worn out and he tossed his cell phone back on the pillow behind his head, letting his eyes roam the city view seen from the window again.

 

The gentle rays of late morning warmed his face and he slowly relaxed, his eyes growing heavy.

 

A loud ring for an incoming call jerked him awake and he cursed softly, then felt his heart quicken its pace within his chest.

 

_Was it Chris again? What did he want?_

 

With unsteady fingers he pulled the cell phone from beneath the covers and looked at the screen, his breath stuck in his throat.

 

It was his agent.

 

The stuffed air left his chest too quickly, and Tom felt his body slump into the bed all at once, including his toes.

 

He took the call.

 

Their exchange was chaste and efficient, setting a meeting in the following week for her and Tom, discussing his schedule for the following months.

 

He left the bed after his conversation with his agent was over, took another hot shower just because he could, got dressed, and even nibbled some of a sandwich he saved himself from yesterday’s party refreshments.

 

There were no missed calls from Chris, he dumbly noted to himself as he grabbed his phone before leaving. He eyed the flat one last time before closing the door behind him and felt like an idiot again as he thought the living room sensed peculiarly different after Chris had slept so peacefully on one of its lounges.

  


\-------

  
  


The clouds looked puffy and grey that late morning, Tom mused as he gestured for a taxi. He took the back seat of the car and named his destination to the driver.  He stared at the passing people through the taxi’s only half translucent window, trying to set his mind to neutral.

 

Half way through the ride his cellphone piped again, informing him of another message. He pulled the device out of his bag and unlocked the screen,

 

'I think it’s cute.' Tiffany wrote to him, referring to the image of them dancing she had sent him.

 

Again, his fingers insisted on hovering over the virtual buttons, hesitating over what, he didn’t know. This was simple.

 

And he did manage eventually, writing back her back that the picture was lovely, and gently asked her who was this articulated photographer who was so intent on grabbing a fine image such as this. One of her friends probably, Tom thought.

 

Pressing the ‘Send’ button and scrolling back up to the photo - Tom tried to remember again when exactly did he smile at her so openly.

 

He recalled nothing as such.

  


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	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if I'll ever see you again
> 
>  
> 
> [Again - Lenny Kravitz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eW2qlKa6oHw)

“We’re here, sir.”

 

Tom looked up from his book and looked out the window of the taxi, making sure the driver has brought him to the back entrance of the building instead of the main gate.

 

“How much do I owe you?”

 

The driver named his price and Tom paid him, then pushed the book back into his backpack without placing a bookmark in the page he was reading. The book was not as interesting as he had hoped it would be, and he knew he would not bother with it again.

 

He left the taxi and headed towards the shooting zone.

 

At ten am in the morning, the complex was bustling with activity. Extras were grouped together in different parts of the halls, gathering around various filming supervisors and directors who instructed them about their timing and formation. Dressers and designers were trotting around the halls as well, supplementing customs and makeup to everyone who was supposed to take part of the filming today.

 

Tom was recognized by most of them and replied their greetings with a graceful smile but did not stop for any small talks, keeping his steps quick and sure. One of the extras who was having a small part as an ancient dancer smiled widely upon seeing him, eyes bright, and Tom smiled back at her, told her she looked lovely in her dress this morning and wished her good luck in her part today.

 

He reached the main set and central stage room, entered it through the back-entry and started heading towards the back dressing rooms.

 

The main set was much quieter as it served as the actual filming location, but it raked with people as well, and Tom knew one of them was Chris. He was supposed to be here today.

 

A strong compulsion urged Tom to know exactly where the man was, and he unleashed his eyes to roam the crowd, once, twice -

 

And there he was.

 

Chris was standing in the heart of the set along with their director, who, as Tom recognized his gestures, was instructing him about the structure and general timing of the scene being currently filmed.

 

Chris was following the director’s instructions, his eyes intent and serious, nodding meaningfully at his words. He was not wearing any makeup, but he was wearing his full Thor armor set with Thor’s hammer dangling at his side.

 

Tom observed him quietly, his fingers readjusting their grip on his backpack’s strand, his steps slowing into a mild pace. They haven’t seen each other for a little more than a week, haven’t exchanged a single word since Chris’s last phone call, and today they shall see each other for the first time since their rushed night together.

 

"Hey, Tom!"

 

Tom blinked and halted completely, looked behind him and saw Sharon, the lady who was supposed to wear him with makeup and dress him up in his relevant custom.

 

“There you are. Come on, I have to get you dressed and sorted,” she said urgently.

 

“I’m right behind you,” Tom murmured and stole one last glance at the central stage, saw that Chris was still conversing with the director, his face so serious, and turned to follow the lady’s steps.

 

\-----------

 

Sharon and her assistant were chatty yet quick and efficient, and after a little less than an hour Tom left the room dressed and makeup worn as Loki.

 

One of the executives informed Tom that he would not be called to the stage for the next few minutes, and he nodded and headed towards his dedicated seat.

 

His body felt somewhat uncomfortable in his suit today, and Tom itched to ascend to the stage and move into action, ease out some of his tension.

 

“Good morning Tom,” a familiar woman’s voice greeted him, and Tom turned in his seat to greet his colleague.

 

Jaime, Sif’s actress, smiled kindly at him and Tom returned the gesture, inviting her to take the seat next to him. They chatted for a few moments, Jamie asking him whether he had the party in his apartment and explaining again why she and her husband couldn’t make it.

 

She was just about to ask him something when a loud call for silence was heard on the set, and they both quieted down and turned to watch the stage.

 

The director and the camera staff exchanged a few instructions, executed a few countdowns, then called everyone else for silence again.

 

With the familiar lull taking over the entire set, Tom felt the beating of his heart inside his chest and leaned his chin over the inside of his palm, letting his fingers cover his mouth as he observed the live filming.

 

The scene started to assemble on the stage - a few extras, dressed as soldiers, entered the filmed area, marching together as a small army. Shortly afterwards, it was Chris’s cue to enter the shot. Dressed as Thor, he joined them on the stage, initiating an argument with them as they were not Thor’s allies.

 

Tom watched the scene, watched Chris, watched the man’s face as he acted out anger and demonstrated a tone of battle, his fingers moving over his lips.

 

Whether he wanted to see Chris, wait until they were alone and ask him out for dinner, or perhaps smile audaciously at him and act as if they both could easily put all that has happened behind them… Tom did not know.

 

He had believed that a week of silence would pacify his resentment about the fact that his and Chris’s sole opportunity for a shared night had to be rushed through, will somehow cool the biting memories of the man’s touch, but instead of relief, Tom felt this sense of dullness, of general reluctance to go on with his routine.

 

With a cynical smile hidden behind his fingers, Tom thought that this trick of silence had proved to be quite efficient in the past with women he dated - even the meaningful ones.

 

Tom had always managed to move on past his doubts and resume advancing towards his other goals in life, such as expanding his career and meeting the next woman who might turn out to be his spouse.

 

What was it that made Chris so different than the others?

 

Back on the stage, Thor’s voice grew louder as the argument reached its peak, and both sides set their weapons, ready for battle, then froze in their movement.

 

“Cut!”

 

The shout startled him, but Tom only blinked and remained still on his chair, bracing his calm around him.

 

_Soon he will see me._

 

Slowly, the people’s chatter returned to fill the set.

 

The extras scattered from the stage, and Chris turned towards the actors’ seats, walking with his head bowed as he eased some buttons from his neck, still not noticing Tom or Jamie.

 

Tom watched the man approaching them, unable to look away. He was nervous, yet a small smile formed on his lips, exposing his excitement.

 

Chris removed the clasps completely, raised his head to look forward, and finally met Tom’s eyes.

 

The man’s lips slightly parted in a quiet surprise, then slowly, Chris smiled shyly at him, a small smile that hit Tom like an arrow of delight.

 

Tom’s own smile widened in return, his eyes never leaving Chris’s face, and a ball of warmth filled his belly.

 

From the corner of his eye, Tom saw Jaime rising from her seat as Chris approached them. Tom followed suit, biting his tongue from letting his smile grow even further.

 

“Chris, how have you been?” Jaime greeted him.

 

With his smile never faltering, Chris nodded warmly at her.

 

“I’m well. It’s good to see you.”

 

Slowly, he turned to Tom, his eyes blue and kind.

 

“Tom, good to see you too.”

 

Tom’s body was warm, his blood was flowing again, and he motioned the stage with his chin.

 

“We’ve been watching you. It was a good scene you’ve played there.”

 

Chris chuckled with surprise and glanced at Jamie.

 

“You two sat here and saw the whole scene just now?,” he asked them both, to which Jamie giggled and Tom whispered a quiet ‘yes’.

 

Jamie continued to talk for a while, then asked whether Chris too was present in the party last week.

 

Tom did not respond and only smiled to himself, quietly listening to Chris’s voice as he told her that yes, he was.

 

Jamie looked curious.

 

“Forgive me Chris, but I must ask. I heard this little tale of you falling asleep on one of the couches in the middle of the living room, is that true?”

 

 _Interesting_ , Tom thought, amused, and looked at Chris for his response.

 

Chris parted his lips and he glanced at Tom for a moment, “Umm,-”

 

Jamie laughed, but not unkindly.

 

“It’s true, isn’t it? You slumped on the couch right front of everyone.”

 

Tom laughed out loud and pinched his nose, trying to stifle some of it and Chris too huffed an embarrassed laugh.

 

“What can I say. I had a long day before that night and I fell asleep like a wreck on one of the softer lounges.”

 

Jaime laughed cheekily at them, obviously satisfied by finding out the tale to be true.

 

“I’m sure. So you just took a long nap in the middle of the living room and left sometime in the morning?”

 

Tom felt his body tense and his belly coil.

 

_Oh darling, no. He left in the middle of the night actually, chaste and vague, and I stayed behind to stare at an empty apartment._

 

Chris didn’t miss a single beat and shook his head.

 

“No, no. Tom woke me up sometime after everyone left, made me some coffee, and I was on my way soon after.”

 

Which was true enough, Tom thought, and felt an urge to needle Chris with some scathing comment about leaving him alone in the middle of the night, but swallowed it down quickly enough. He would only embarrass them both.

 

They chatted a little more about the party, with Tom barely taking part in their conversation, not feeling eager to participate.

 

Jamie left for the dressing rooms several moments later, and he and Chris took their seats next to each other.

 

Tom kept his eyes on the stage, his hands carefully folded in his lap. It felt awkward and foolish to be sitting so close to the man, Tom thought, without not knowing what to do or what to say.

 

What aggravated Tom most was that Chris, too, did not say a single word to him just as well.

 

When Tom was called to the stage eventually, he did turn to look at Chris, let his eyes linger a little on his face, and murmured a soft ‘see you later’ at him and turned to go.

 

He told himself that with time, soon enough, things would get so much easier.

  
  


\------------

  
  
  


Tom pulled the keys out of his backpack, exited his dressing room and locked the door behind him.

 

He adjusted his backpack over his back and turned to walk towards the hall leading to the back exit from the shooting zone.

 

He exited the building, absently checking his cell phone for missed calls as he walked.

 

Catching an intriguing shade of blond in the corner of his eyes, Tom instinctively halted to a stop.

 

The man was sitting with his back to him, his fingers entwined on the back of his head and his legs stretched in front of him. Quietly, Chris appeared to be watching the view of the green fields that stretched beyond the parking lot from his seat.

 

It was late afternoon, it’s cool breeze whistling through the few local trees and crudely hitting Tom’s face, preventing the sun’s orange rays from warming him, leaving his nose and cheeks cold.

 

Tom wanted to leave, to continue on his way home, but his legs remained rooted at the spot. He has kept so quiet all through the day, he had to say something. Anything.

 

“Hey, Chris!”

 

Chris’s head stirred to the side, then his torso turned sideways as well. Upon seeing him,  Chris rose to his feet and walked towards the sidewalk where Tom stood. As the filming sessions were over for today, Chris was back in his regular clothes and he pushed his hands into his jeans as he approached.

 

He strode towards Tom without saying a word, and Tom matched his movement, waiting for the man to come closer to him.

 

“Hey there,” Chris said as they stood in front of each other.

 

After their small conversation with Jaime, Tom attempted to continue his working day as regularly as possible, fulfilling his part in the scenes with care and precision, even laughing at the occasional filming goofs.

 

The day went by with zero incidents, and Tom felt a little nauseous at how his intentions at going through the day as normally as possible with Chris at his immediate proximity have materialized into reality so well.

 

“Are you going home?”, Chris asked him mildly.

 

“Yes… yes I am.”, Tom said, “What about you? Are they keeping you here until late tonight?”

 

Chris nodded at him, a small smile gracing his lips.

 

“Just a little, nothing too serious. Rodney asked me to stay and watch a few shots with him before next week.”

 

Tom pursed his lips and nodded as well, unsure of how to continue.

 

They were alone now, just nearby the main parking lot. Chris was looking at him with gentle eyes, patiently waiting for his comment, and Tom felt the recent days’ apathy replaced by warm contentment, his tension turning into a low thrill.

 

“You were quiet today,” Chris said eventually.

 

So were you, Tom thought but didn’t say. He met the man’s eyes and saw them watching him intently, and Tom realized that Chris was even more beautiful now than he was before they had kissed, before they had touched each other.

 

“I was nervous this morning, before meeting you,” Chris said suddenly. “I wasn’t sure how you’d behave, how I would behave.”

 

Tom stared at him, a little startled at Chris’s sudden willingness to share his sensations.

 

“I think the last time I’ve felt like this was when I was seventeen or so,” Chris added with a chuckle, and Tom laughed with him, finally letting it all go.

 

He wanted to step closer to him, kiss his cheek and talk some more until the sky would darken completely, until it would become too late and Chris would offer to take him home again.

 

“I’m glad to see you. You… you look good,” Chris said in a low voice.

 

Tom blinked slowly and felt the flush creep up his neck.

 

Being alone with Chris, with him saying these words, it felt both sweetly comforting and dangerous at the same time. What is it about this man, Tom thought and swallowed some extra saliva down his throat.

 

“I wanted to say goodbye before I left,” Tom said softly, now surprising himself with his own unexpected honesty.

 

Chris opened his mouth to answer, but then they both heard someone call Chris’s name, telling him he was needed on the set.

 

“In a moment!,” Chris called, then looked back at Tom. Slowly Chris lifted his hand and brushed Tom’s arm, and Tom, acting on a pure instinct, took a step closer to the man.

 

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Tom asked him, feeling like a child. He knew Chris was supposed to attend the set tomorrow as well, but he wanted to hear it from his own lips.

 

“Sure,” Chris said and squeezed his arm, “I’ll see you soon, ok?”

 

Tom nodded at him, sensing that speechlessness take over him again and watched Chris as he walked back towards the building.

 

Seeing him leave like this, walking away, it hurt, it irritated Tom every time anew.

 

When Chris disappeared behind the heavy doors of the buildings, Tom cast his eyes down at the ground and kicked a small pebble with his foot, then turned towards the main road across the parking lot.

 

Each of the men went their separate ways.

  
  


\--------

  
  


“Where to, sir?”

 

 _Just drive_ , Tom thought, staring through the window of the taxi. The sky was colored stark royal blue, with the sun sending some angry red dashes of light in the distance, setting the sky on fire.

 

“Sir? Where are we heading to?”

 

Tom murmured his address to the driver and threw his head over the back of the seat, thinking of how in god’s name he has come to feel and behave like a man choking on his own air like this.

 

And as he closed his eyes and tried to think of how he might be able to ease his way through his and Chris’s encounters at work, a small notion simmered on the edge of his consciousness.

 

_Even if I lose him as a friend after this, I will still regret nothing._

 

Tom let the phrase dance around his mind as he tried to rest his head on the car seat’s cushion, and could not decide whether this thought made him selfish or not.

 

 

 

\--------

 

  
  
  


They had set the meeting for ten o'clock in the morning, but Tom decided to make an early show, preceding Daniel in a few minutes so he could have some quiet time by himself. He ordered some cool soda along with hot espresso for himself and enjoyed the warm morning sun rays as they caressed his face.

 

He was not recognized by anyone, but nevertheless, his small break did not last much as Daniel, true to her habit, showed up just in time.

 

No wonder she made an excellent agent.

 

"Good morning Tom", she said with a bright a smile as she sat opposite to him on the table.

 

"Lovely morning indeed. You look well."

 

They chatted for a little while, being friendly with each other. She was a good looking lady, and before she became his agent Tom even considered asking her out once or twice.

 

It was her complete, utter devotion for her job which deterred him from enacting on his intentions towards her eventually. She was petite and in a visible good shape - but other than her bright smile and her ability to excel in her professional field, Tom felt he could predict most of her responses. The lady showed no unexpected quirks, no apparent mishaps, no silly smiles or hiccups after eating too fast. For lack of a better word, Daniel was simply boring.

 

Her type used to fit into Tom's preference not too long ago, but it appeared that something which he could not put into words has changed inside him as of late.

 

Like Chris. Something has changed in Chris as well.

 

Tom blinked.

 

“I have some good news Tom, which is why I had wanted us to meet in the first place”,  Daniel said at some point.

 

Despite his general fatigue, Tom’s curiosity was piqued. He leaned on the table towards her, a refreshing grin forming on his face.

 

“Go on then, surprise me.”

 

Her eyes glimmered with the hint of another successful venture at him.

 

“Do you remember Renly, the ‘Far from home’ series producer?” she leered at him, “He has contacted me.”

 

Tom’s eyebrows shot upwards and he broke into a wicked smile.

 

“You don’t say!”

 

“Yes! He has asked about you specifically!”

 

Tom bit his upper lip, feeling excited and rather smug with himself. He knew it! He had them all under his thumb after the auditions he had gone through a few months prior.

 

Daniel handed him more details about the project - a fascinating twelve episode drama series, which was supposed to start its actual rehearsals and first shootings within six months, and the producers wanted Tom to take over one of the central roles. should Tom decide he was interested in the part, she would make sure to manipulate his schedule to fit this project

 

“Also, I have another piece of news I think you’d like to hear as well.”

 

He placed his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his fist, watching her eagerly.

 

“Well, Renly has informed me they have decided to move the filming location from the United States to northern France!”

 

Tom stared at her, taking her words in. What?

 

Daniel leaned forward, urging him to understand.

 

“What I mean is, that with the rest of your projects and this change in filming locations you’ll get to be constantly close to the UK for a long period of time!”

 

Tom’s eyebrows furrowed, suddenly rendered speechless.

 

_…I’ll have to leave the States?_

 

Daniel looked at him expectantly, not so patiently waiting for his response.

 

Tom cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts in an attempt to comprehend the exact meaning of her words.

 

“Dan, This… This is big. What are we talking about here? I mean, all in all, along with the rest of the projects - Everything will amount to six to eight months in Europe, am I seeing it right?”

 

She nodded at him, clearly confused with his wary tone.

 

Tom understood her confusion all too well. After all those months spent in America, he should be _ecstatic_ about this kind of announcement.

 

His agent searched his face.

 

“Well, yes, perhaps even more than that.”

 

But instead of being ecstatic, Tom felt as if someone has just splashed him with a bucket of cold water.

 

“Tom, I thought you’d be happy about this.”

 

He assembled his most encouraging smile, but his mind was already circling in on itself, that little whisper of voice echoing within again.

 

Leaving the United States meant that he would have to - to leave someone very specific behind.

 

Chris was bound to stay the United States for the next year or two, Tom knew this.

If Tom would leave to Europe for such a long period of time… Chris and him would never stand a chance.

 

The harsh whisper rung in his ears, shifting the bustling morning rush of the coffee shop around him into a mild echo of human chatter.

 

“You’ve always told me you prefer working as close to Britain as possible.”

 

Tom laughed, if a little breathlessly, at his agent, searching for something sensible to tell her. He was momentarily so taken aback by his own line of thinking, his mind vacant as if in shock.

 

Daniel looked at him intently, her face wary.

 

“Tom, do you have other position offers that I am not aware of? Please be honest with me here. I need to know about things like that.”

 

Tom shook himself mentally and gestured towards Daniel with his hand.

 

“Oh no, no Daniel - I am not hiding any other offers up my sleeve, it’s nothing like that. This… This is a significant change in plans. I just need some time to let the information sink, alright?”

 

His agent shook her head and pursed her lips unhappily.

 

“This is so odd. I was so convinced you’d be happy to return to Europe after all this time you’ve spent here in the States… Hell, I prepared myself for a spontaneous hug on the very spot. You’ve been practically _dreaming_ about taking a major part in this series.”

 

Tom rubbed his face and breathed through his nose slowly, feeling impatient with her. He could not handle this now. This meeting needed to be over.

 

“Nothing has changed, ok? I still… I still want this part. Let’s discuss this again in a few days, alright?”

  
  


\------

  
  


Daniel shared a few more job-related details with him regarding the prom night of Thor, Interviews he was obligated to take part in, and the general schedule for the following months.

 

Their meeting ended shortly afterwards, with Daniel leaving the coffee shop and Tom bidding her a good day, remaining seated at their table.

 

The minutes passed by as Tom idly observed the coffee shop as the vibrant morning rush of customers slowed into a mild flow of people coming in and out of the store.

 

It was long past the time for breakfast, but Tom was still far from hungry.

 

So that’s how it is now, he mused.

 

He was hesitating about taking the role he’d just been offered, a role he’s been chasing for more than a year, a role he knew would bring a powerful boost to his career because taking it would encompass a commitment from Tom’s side to leave back to Europe and stay there.

 

Which meant that he would be far away from Chris.

 

This is hilarious, Tom thought, just hysterical.

 

One night stand. With a married man. That was supposedly standing between him and perhaps one of the more opportune professional offers in his career.

 

He wanted to laugh, for he was a so much more of a fool than Chris with his gentle eyes, sweet words and small warm touches, but his lips remained sealed shut.

 

Tom asked the waitress for the bill, then eyed the small plate of cookies placed on the table in front of him. Despite his belly still being reluctant, he picked one of the cookies and pushed it into his mouth. This aversion from food could not continue. He had to eat.

 

He needed to make things right, he thought as he left the store, his steps determined.

 

_I have to fix this._

 

\--------------

  
  


That night in his apartment, sprawled on the couch inside his living room, Tom held his mobile phone in his palm, gazing at Tiffany’s number shining brightly on the screen.

 

Licking his lips, Tom swept his finger over the device and listened carefully to the ticking dial sound.

 

Tom hadn’t spoken to her since last week’s party.

 

“Tom?”

 

She sounded cheerful enough to hear his voice, and Tom readjusted his mobile against his ear, bracing his charms.

 

“Tiff, how are you?”

 

As they chatted away on the phone, laughing and flirting with each other, Tom was soothingly reminded of what it felt like to be playing a game he knew how to play.

 

This - talking to a sweet, attractive woman, charming her and making her laugh, this he knew how to do well. As the conversation flowed so easily between them, Tom felt as is if he has rediscovered his anchor back to his old, wild self.

 

He liked this woman, and perhaps… perhaps this could work out between them. Perhaps an opportunity of being with her might allow him to see things more clearly, to move on past the numbing confusion and this… this growing inclination for something he could not, or perhaps did not want to comprehend.

 

“I haven’t had the chance to keep my promise to take you out for dinner, and I would love to meet you this weekend,” Tom said, voice steady and sure, and how good it felt to be talking like this again.

 

The lady agreed, and Tom stretched his neck with relief.

 

Their conversation ended shortly after that, and Tom bent to the table to grab his water cup from the table, throat sensing dry.

 

The moon was shedding its pale light again through the windows of the living room, and Tom breathed deeply, smelling some rain in the air. He was exhausted ,but felt that sleep would not come easily tonight.

 

Not for the first time, Tom’s thoughts traveled again to a certain promise he had made during those gallant, heated few hours he had shared with Chris.

 

I’ll have just this one night, he had vowed to himself, and now all he had to do was stand behind his words.

 

Because that night was long past over, and it had to be enough.

 

It had to be.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray  
> I've been for a walk on a winter's day  
> I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A  
> California dreamin' on such a winter's day
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [California Dreamin - Mamas & The Papas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-aK6JnyFmk)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your faith was strong but you needed proof  
> You saw him bathing on the roof  
> His beauty and the moonlight overthrew you  
> He tied you to a kitchen chair  
> He broke your throne, and he cut your hair  
> And from your lips he drew the Hallelujah
> 
>  
> 
> [ Leonard Cohen - Hallelujah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttEMYvpoR-k)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone :)
> 
> This chapter is very special to me, and I would like to dedicate it to my two sweetest readers, [ 898700](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter/pseuds/898700) and [ sunnylight171](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnylight171/pseuds/sunnylight171) who's been sharing their thoughts, doubts and compliments with me ever since almost the very beginning of this story.
> 
> They encourage me and warm my heart more than they will ever know, and I wish to thank them by dedicating this humble chapter to them :) 
> 
> Ghostwriter and sunny, I hope you will enjoy this, thank you so much for reading and commenting. I hope to read so much more from you :)

“I can’t run with those heels, Tom,” Tiffany said, her voice shaking with laughter as Tom urged her to hurry towards the restaurant. The sudden rain that attacked them poured through both their umbrellas and threatened to soak into their coats.

 

They both sighed with relief when they finally entered the restaurant, cozy heat engulfing them as they removed their heavy clothing. Sans her coat and the previous obscuring darkness of the taxi, Tom’s eye moved over Tiffany’s figure, now able to get a clear view of her for the first time since he picked her up from her flat.

 

She was wearing an unexpected white dress that showed off her toned yet delicate waist curves, her dark brown hair was pulled up into a nicely ordered bun above her head, and her lips, he noted, were painted with a strong shade of dazzling dark pink.

 

“You look wonderful,” Tom told her as he took her arm, following the hostess who lead them to their table

  
  
  


\-------

  
  
  


Throughout the meal, Tom enjoyed his opportunity to be a gentleman with his accompanying lady, drawing the chair away from the table for her to sit, pouring wine into her glass whenever it fell more than half empty and ordering whatever she expressed interest in from the menu without waiting for her request or approval.

 

As the night progressed, Tiffany continuously turned out to be an intelligent (and apparently very well educated), sharp, elegantly behaving woman. Also, as a part of her job as one of the supervisors in a press release team, she was well seasoned in the business terms of the entertainment industry.

 

She was the furthest stretch from a cheap lay or a dependent woman in a need of money, a possible good match for him in a shape of a challenging woman, and as Tom listened to her talk, he wondered again how they might have looked like as a couple.

 

 _Excellent_ , his rational delivered instantly, _we would have looked excellent together_.

 

“Do you miss England, Tom?”

 

Tom touched the brim of his wine glass and hummed in consideration.

 

“I do, some of the time, but spending long periods of time in a foreign country has its advantages. The urge to fit in and make myself feel comfortable pushes me forward most of the time.”

 

Her question was not a common one to ask in their current quiet setting, Tom mused, and felt himself growing curious.

 

“Why? Do you sympathize?”

 

She nodded at him, then explained that even though she was born in America, her job rarely allows her enough free time to properly visit her family who lives in north Dakota, in a small town close to the border with Canada.

 

“To this day they live in a small, half-deserted town that always made me feel alienated as a child when I heard about the outside world. A year after I started working as a minor news writer, I got myself a chance to leave that place. I was so eager to make some new friends, get a better job and live in an apartment of my own in the city.”

 

“Nowadays, when I look around myself and consider my achievements, I realize I’ve succeeded far better that I had thought I would. I’ve come to know some great friends here, I like my job, and so on.”

 

She paused for a moment, then took a sip from her wine.

 

“The funny part is, that as the time passes, despite the many dreams I’ve managed to make into reality, I feel that instead of forgetting that little region, I actually miss that dusty old town, my mother’s house, and the sentiment just keeps growing with every year.”

 

She then decided to cover Tom’s hand which rested on top of the table between them with her fingers, and sent him a small, sweet smile.

 

“I just keep remembering myself at the age of 21, all packed and ready to go at the doorstep of the old house, hugging my father and kissing his cheek goodbye, absolutely positive that I shall never look back.”

 

Tom squeezed her fingers with his in sympathy, and silently pondered about her small story.

 

“Well, anyway. The bottom line is, only today I understand what  a hotheaded, naive brat I was, constantly assuming I knew what tomorrow may bring and how I would feel about it.”

 

Tom inspected her face carefully and reflected upon some recent hotheadedness of his own doing, and wondered if it was possible that she was trying to imply something more than just her personal experience.

 

It was an absurd thought, though. Tiffany couldn’t possibly know what had transpired between him and his agent previously this week, concerning the almost official offer for a role he’s been after for more than a year, a role he’s envisioned as one of his most important professional opportunities to present.

 

It was almost too peculiar to realize just how that little tale of hers reminded him of his own situation, how he’d diligently prepared for that part’s auditions, how he’d pushed Daniel to court anyone who might deliver some complimentary words about him to the right ears. He had been certain that should the role be offered to him, he would take it without a second thought in mind.

 

His reaction, come the moment of truth, was downright irrational, beyond funny.

 

How his mischievous little heart had hinted, even if for a mere moment, that this bastard Chris was more important, more significant than the opportunity to have that long awaited golden part.

 

“You know what Tiff?”, Tom said with a sharp laugh, ”I think you’re too right for your own good.”

 

Tiffany joined his laugh, clearly oblivious to his thoughts, downed the rest of her wine and sent him a meaningful look. She leaned forward at him then, kissed his cheek, and lingered close to his face.

 

That Chris and he would never stand a chance, a voice of sheer stupidity had whispered to him back then while he was talking to his agent.

 

A chance in what, exactly? A chance in moving on as if nothing has changed as they both were already behaving like these days? A chance in making Tom squirm like an immature whelp in a face of a true opportunity?

 

Pointless. It was all pointless thinking, and he wanted no more of this little drama.

 

Tom closed the distance to Tiffany’s face and caught her lips with his.

 

It was not a short kiss, nor a very long one, but the warmth of her mouth and the easy coming intimacy made Tom sigh into the kiss with an estranged satisfaction.

 

They looked at each other after their mouths parted, smiled mutually, then returned to their food, the atmosphere around them light again, their conversation never faltering, never dull.

 

They finished their meal and wine not too much later afterwards, and Tom asked the waiter for the bill.

 

Another kiss was planted on his cheek and a content ‘thank you’ was said against his skin as Tom paid for their dinner.

 

She’s so relaxed and good natured, Tom thought, thinking back to the evening Chris and he had spent in that pub outside of town all those weeks ago, together watching a basketball game and sharing dinner. Tom remembered himself after discovering that Chris had paid for him, stricken dumb as if he was a mere girl being asked for a dance by the prettiest boy in class.

 

What a flattered fool Tom was, and how sweet, no matter how aimless Tom deemed it be, it had felt to be paid for and be taken home afterwards by that idiot Chris.

 

“Let’s go,” Tom said somewhat impatiently and took Tiffany’s hand, squeezing her fingers almost too tightly on their way out and calling a taxi to take them to back her apartment.

 

The ride to Tiffany’s flat was much quieter than their time in the restaurant, and Tiffany kept her hand in Tom’s throughout the entire drive, her fingers not releasing his even as the driver pulled his car to a stop below her building.

 

Looking at their joined hands and sensing a certain promise they held, Tom felt Tiffany leaning over to him until their lips met again briefly, then pulled back to look into his eyes.

 

“Would you come upstairs with me?”

 

He pushed the extra thoughts from his mind, frowned at his own doubts upon such an alluring offer, and complied with a nod. He wanted her, to soak some of her warmth and have her, he could feel it in his loins, but something kept him from uttering an explicit, outright consent as she waited for his answer.

 

Satisfied with his assent, the lady kissed him again and gestured him to follow her out, which he did after leaving some money bills to the driver.

 

The weather has changed into a mild drizzle as the couple left the car, and Tom took his time, his steps slow and measured on his way to the apartment with Tiffany on his side.

  
  


  


\--------

  


 

“My, you really do have some fine taste…. This place looks brilliant.”

 

Tiffany thanked him, clearly appeased by his compliment, then let Tom take her coat and hang it nearby the door.

 

She guided him to her living room and went to fetch them both two cups of wine, leaving Tom to take his seat on the sofa and survey her apartment once more once she left for the kitchen.

 

The flat really was impressive, but with an internal smirk Tom thought he liked his own much better.

 

Tiffany sat next to him as she came back and handed him his cup, clinking their glasses together before they sipped the wine.

 

With the drink drawing his senses pliant, Tom was relaxed again and he relished on the ease of air that lingered between them. A lovely woman was sitting next to him, he could kiss her freely whenever he wished to, and the sheer simplicity of it was welcome in both his mind and body.

 

Both half tipsy and somewhat conversation-depleted after their shared dinner, Tiffany rested her head on Tom’s shoulder after they had finished their wine, occasionally releasing a small giggle at one of Tom’s jokes.

 

As silence fell between them, Tiffany laced their fingers together once again, and Tom closed his eyes at her touch. A strange thread of compulsion to remain passive crawled up his spine, like a gentle wave of dispassion that left him detached, one that reminded Tom of apathy.

 

He was determined to drive those sensations away.

 

Tom tilted Tiffany’s head by the chin for a kiss, his body warmed by strong alcohol and the lady’s body heat. Her lips were grazed with liquor as well were his, and the kiss melted between them, hands roaming over chest and waist of each other, slowly balancing themselves into a horizontal state on the couch with Tom on top of Tiffany’s body.

 

They nuzzled each other’s face and neck, quiet, gentle sighs filling the air until Tiffany pulled back a little and ran her hand along Tom’s forearm. Tom blinked at her as he felt her light shove, his mind so sated with alcohol he almost forgot her name for a mere moment.  

 

“Should we take this to the bedroom?”

 

Tom exhaled slowly and kissed her, delaying his reply.

 

Something was holding him back.

 

She felt good beneath him, she really did. He could have her tonight, taste her, sink himself into her body and enjoy her warmth. He could call her tomorrow and tell her how attractive she looked the day before.

 

He could stay the night with her, _feel_ her, and leave that cool apathy behind him.

 

“Yes, you’re right. Let’s go to your bedroom then.”

  
  


  


\------------

  


  
  


Her skin color was lovely.

 

Tiffany was rocking her body above him, sighing sweet words into the air while balancing herself onto his chest.

 

Her body felt snug but not too tight around him as she had already orgasmed one time tonight during their former foreplay, keening and clutching Tom’s arms as he pleasured her.  

 

She moved slowly and sensually, her eyes closed, leisurely moving her hips while straddling his waist.

 

His fingers were grazing her thighs, but not quite holding onto her flesh.

 

Tom was watching her.

 

She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. She knew how to move her body, how to circle her hips and squeeze her inner muscles onto him just nicely.

 

He was right there with her on the bed and he felt everything, he was certain of it, but the sensations running through his blood, the slight drops of sweat covering his forehead, the electricity that tightened his muscles, they all felt…good, but mechanical. Conventional, as if Tom was eating some docile, tasteless food only to relieve him of his body’s demands for energy.

 

He swallowed with difficulty, feeling his throat tighten.

 

Tiffany brought her hand to his cheek and leaned over to kiss him. Still determined to feel good, to be there with her, Tom returned the kiss with all his might, trying hard to replace the notion of tastelessness with awareness and warmth.

 

Her pace, it was not enough, he needed more, Tom thought, and finally his fingers came to grip her thighs.

 

“Hey,” He whispered, “Let’s change positions, shall we?”

 

She nodded at him and they flipped their positions, with Tom balancing her onto her hands and knees, then slowly easing himself into her again.

 

He held onto her hips as he started moving, watched her slender back moving back and forth to match his own movements.

 

Slowly, Tom’s eyes closed of their own, as if his mind used the opportunity of Tiffany’s back turned to him to unleash the searing memories free.

 

He remembered it, he remembered that Chris and he had shared the very same position Tom was sharing with Tiffany right now, only that their positions were reversed.

 

Tom ran his hand over Tiffany’s hips’ smooth skin and thought about how different Chris’s grip onto his flesh was, how bold Chris was, allowing himself to hold Tom in place when he bucked away, to press him against the wall and hold onto Tom’s throat as he came.

 

Exhaling slowly and licking his lips, Tom grounded his hips faster. He was close.

 

Tiffany’s rapid moans filled the room, and he recalled some of Chris’s first kisses, gentle and testing, tenderness that eventually turned into harsh, taking thrusts, how Tom felt that sweetly-burning, unmistakable soreness the following day as he woke up in his bed.

 

Quickening his hips movements to the point of no return, he felt his blood flowing again, his muscles powerfully taut and ready to shoot, and Tom came with a hacked grunt into the condom, his climax intense and short, his hips quickly slowing into more casual rolls to ride off the lessening waves of pleasure.

 

Coming to a full halt, Tom slipped out of Tiffany’s body, moved aside and balanced himself onto his palms, his head hanging low and his breath heavy. A rush of cold air attacked his body and Tom coughed throatily, feeling exhausted.

 

“I’m fine darling,” Tom said stiffly when Tiffany asked him whether he was ok, then came to lie beside her on his back. She kissed his mouth and told him she felt good and tired, to which Tom replied that he felt the same.

 

With another kiss to his lips, Tiffany yawned, pressing her forehead against Tom’s shoulder and holding his fingers on top of the mattress as her breaths slowed into a steady rise and fall of her chest.

 

It was raining again outside, and Tom listened to the low rumble of the pouring water, his head aching and his stomach slightly nauseous.

 

He lay completely still on his back, his eyes wide open, knowing perfectly well that sleep would not come to him in this bed. He should stay with her, it would be better for them both, Tom knew this, but he simply couldn’t. His body was itching to leave.

 

He struggled to keep his mouth shut for long moments, tried to prolong his stay as much as he could or at least get some rest, but it was a futile attempt.

 

“Tiff?”, Tom whispered then cleared his throat when he heard his voice hoarse, “Sweetheart, I should go.”

 

  


\------------

  


 

It was a midnight hour, yet Tom did not bother with the lights as he entered his darkened apartment and headed straight to the kitchen. He was so thirsty.

 

‘I have to work early tomorrow,’ he had told Tiffany, and she had accepted it with a disappointed, somewhat perplexed look, but gracefully enough.

 

He took a hot shower to get his body warm again, then practically dropped himself onto the bed, feeling utterly drained of energy.

 

 _It's no use_ , that maddening voice whispered at him again from within as Tom covered himself in a thick blanket, throat parched, body defeated.

 

He missed him.

  
  


  
  


\-------@@@@@-------

  
  


 

A faint sound of muffled vibration buzzes through the dressing and makeup room.

 

“Chris? I think it’s yours.”

 

Tom casts his eyes to Chris, who is looking down closely at his suit, his fingers fumbling with his tie.

 

He catches the designer’s look in the mirror, trying stay still and quiet as the makeup lady does her wonders with his face.

 

 _He didn’t hear you_ , Tom mouths at her.

 

Looking a little confused, she nods at Tom and clears her throat with purpose.

 

“Chris? Your bag is buzzing, I think you’re having a call.”

 

The man appears to hear her this time.

 

“Sorry, what? I wasn’t there for a moment.”

 

Tom feels his lips curve into a smile but quickly schools his face back as Julie glares at him with that large rouge brush in her hand.

 

“Your cell phone is ringing inside your bag,”  the designer tells him, a little impatient now.

 

Chris catches her impatient tone and murmurs something unintelligible, blanching a little. He pulls his mobile out from his backpack, glances at the device screen and frowns. For a moment, he appears to be contemplating his options, then excuses himself out of the room.

 

Tom watches him leave, instinctively grows curious, then straightens his eyes back into the mirror again, tilting his chin upwards at Julie’s request.

 

In a few weeks, the shootings for the third Thor film should be completed, and many interviews and correlating publicity shootings are set in stock for everyone.

 

Tonight, both Chris and Tom are being dressed and put up with the necessary makeup, preparing themselves to shoot a live interview for a late night show in one of the city’s smaller studios.

 

Julie is done with his face by the time one of the executives enters the room, followed by Chris, whose expression is completely blank.

 

“Are we all done in here? Tom, Chris, You two are set? Good. Follow me please.”

 

Chris steals one last glance at his suit through the mirror then trails after Tom, muttering about ‘that stupid tie’ under his breath.

 

They walk in silence until their guiding assistant starts probing them both with enthusiastic questions about their experience from their past works. Tom obliges him with friendly yet practical answers, sparing the fuss from Chris who’s clearly not interested in the small talk, as per usual.

 

Almost three weeks have passed since their encounter, and It has been more than difficult to gauge the man’s spirits ever since.

 

Chris appears to be so serious all the time, though Tom strongly believes that he is the only one to notice that, since the man is still friendly and kind to everyone who surrounds him. It is in the short slots of time during the supposedly trivial momentums of the day that Tom catches the muteness of the man’s face during lunch breaks, or that peculiar pliancy Chris demonstrates on the set as he sits in his dedicated seat, waiting just too patiently for the next instructions to come from the relevant supervisor.

 

But even so, regardless of those questionable moments when Tom can't help but observe the man, they both behave so casually around each other, talking and laughing with their other colleagues, performing their duties on the set in an almost spotless order.

 

Chris and he keep that shared night safely tucked beneath the surface so perfectly well that Tom sometimes wants to punch Chris in the face, drag him into a physical fight and trigger some kind of an extreme reaction from any of them, it didn't really matter by now.

 

It is supposed to feel like the perfect arrangement, Tom thinks. Not a single sloppy joke, not one accidental lingering look or a brush of limbs. Two well behaved boys, all professional, such good sports about the whole business, no harm done.

 

Everything works out in a flawless manner, life is moving on so charmingly well, and Tom despises it all.

  
  


\--------------

  
  
  


“My friends, please wait here. I’ll call you when it’s your cue to enter. Water and refreshments are on the little shelf just below the table.”

 

They both thank the assistant and then they are left alone in the waiting room, both standing with their hands shoved into their pockets. Chris asks Tom for the time, and then there’s only silence.

 

Tom pours them two glasses of cool water and hands one to Chris who takes it with a single nod.

 

That the man is quiet around him hardly comes as a surprise, but then Tom hears a muffled clicking sound and soon realizes that Chris's fingers are rhythmically snapping together inside his pocket.

 

Tom furrows his brows together in mild defensiveness. Does Chris have a problem with being alone in the same room with him?

 

The notion is probably far from reality, but the small chance that it is true stings Tom's flesh like a needle, and he wants to somehow make things better. Their mutual silence is simply no longer bearable.

 

“So, how’s that beauty sleep business working out for you?”

 

Chris stops his finger snapping, probably absent-mindedly, and looks up at Tom, who instantly knows that the man is not to be tinkered with today. This could turn out bitter, he knows, but this silence between them, this reeking nonchalance… He wants something else, if only for a moment.

 

“What?”

 

Tom gestures his chin to Chris’s hand.

 

“Your fingers were snapping. You’re not focused today… What’s wrong? We’ll get this interview wrapped up no time.”

 

Chris searches his face as if realizing that Tom comes in peace, and his face immediately softens.

 

“I know, I know. Something just happened yesterday and I’m just… It got my mind reeling”

 

Intrigued with the unexpected reciprocation, Tom leans forward a little, his eyes intent on Chris, silently urging him to continue.

 

_Tell me. Tell me what’s on your mind._

 

Chris brings his palm to run over his jaw, opens and closes his mouth a few times until he grunts and shakes his head in frustration.

 

Tom continues to watch him, transfixed. He hasn’t seen Chris expressing any raw emotion in weeks.

 

“Do you remember I told you about that vehicle engineer film contract I signed with the White Colt studios roughly two months ago?”

 

Tom nods, recalling the details from his memory. It was a relatively small project Chris was rather thrilled about, which, according to Chris’s stories, was finalized by mutual contract with the studios two months prior.

 

“What about it?”

 

“We were supposed to start the actual filming in just a few weeks, it was all settled and signed, and yesterday night, the chief producer called me and..” He shakes his head in resignation, his lips pressed tightly together.

 

“He said that they want to cancel the contract. That they’ve changed their mind… about me. They’re casting someone else.”

 

Tom looks at him, confused.

 

“Did they say why?”

 

“Only that there’s been a last-minute change, and after thoroughly thinking it over they believe that this is the right move to make at the moment.”

 

Tom frowns at the words. These things happen sometimes, he knows, but this last minute cancelation was not a common move to make on either side of the agreement, especially after signing a mutual contract.

 

“Did you have any idea about this? Did they give you any previous hint that they were reconsidering the casting?”

 

Chris bit his lower lip and shook his head again.

 

“None whatsoever. I never saw it coming. The contract allows the studio to reconsider their casting choice, but… the producer, Norton, he spoke to me personally just three days ago, telling me everything is already set and ready for the filming, he even told me which scene he had chosen to start with, and I…. I trusted him.”

 

Chris finishes his water and places the empty cup back on the small table.

 

“When they told me yesterday, I was shocked. I barely responded. I know the contract explicitly allows them to make this move but...damn it. I trusted them, I wanted this part, and now I hardly even want to fight for it because after this…  Who knows what else they are capable of?"

 

He sighs and rubs his face, looking tired.

 

“I feel like a total idiot. They kicked me out, and all I did at that moment was remaining silent and confused in my own puddle of mud.”

 

The story is far from nice, but Tom is so content with the change of air, with the taste of sharing and honesty. And Chris... He is pretty even when he sulks, Tom thinks and bites back a smile.

 

The door opens and the same assistant from before peeks into the room, letting them know it’s ten more minutes before they are called to the stage.

 

Tom waits until the assistant disappears, straightens his suit and return his attention to Chris.

 

He looks likes he’s been slapped in the face sans the red mark on the cheek, but Tom understands him all the way through. Being tossed away like this by the cold, power hungry arm of the show business industry hurts deep and worse than that - it could fracture one’s self-confidence to the core if one is not strong enough.

 

Chris is strong, of course, but the incident has obviously thrown him out of balance, and he seems nervous.

 

This is the most significant personal exchange they’ve had since their encounter in Tom’s apartment, and despite its negative references, it feels good. Warm.

 

“And now this interview. I would skip it in a heartbeat," Chris adds offhandedly.

 

The room is silent for long moments while Tom looks at Chris again.  He notices that albeit Chris’s multiple attempts, his silly tie was still resting skewed on his chest.

 

He can deny that he wants to be close to this man, but at the end of each day, Tom knows he is struggling for naught. This feels like an opportunity, and he wants this, whatever this is.

 

Slowly, as if not to chase Chris away, Tom pushes himself away from the wall and walks over to the man until they are face to face. Without looking at him, Tom reaches up to his tie, his hands steady but his legs stinging with small shivers.

 

“Let me fix this for you.” Tom murmurs quietly, willing himself to relax.

 

 _Just this once, just for a few moments_ , those treacherous words run again through Tom's mind and he does not resist them.

 

Chris says nothing, does not even nod at him and remains as still as a tree log.

 

Tom slowly unties the neck knot, the smell of Chris’s cologne filling his senses. The scent is minty cold but stable and deep, and Tom inhales it quietly, letting his mind wrap itself around their proximity.

 

“You know, people who make rash decisions are usually the first ones to regret them.”

 

Tom pauses to rearrange the ties’ tail on Chris’s chest, his fingertips brushing the buttoned shirt beneath them, his eyes stealing glances at the man’s chin and soft stubble in the process.

 

“If a man gives you his word, his signature, but keeps the cards close to his chest and gets a pair of cold feet right before the money time, then perhaps this man was never serious about the entire project in the first place, and that has nothing to do with you.”

 

He reassembles the knot, sliding the tail of cloth through the small loops of the tie, gives it a small tug in the direction of Chris’s throat, then smoothes the final position of the tie along the man’s chest. There.

 

“There”, Tom mutters gently and dares his palm to linger his on the warm, cloth covered flesh beneath his fingers.

 

He lifts his eyes to Chris’s and wills them not to waver. Tom wants to say so much to him, to talk and laugh freely about everything and nothing at all.

 

“You’re a decent man Chris, a professional. A good professional. You did what you thought was the right thing, and that’s what matters. So what if they gave you a knockout? Dust yourself off and move on to the next best thing. You are the one responsible for your own successes, not them. They can’t take anything from you, not really.”

 

Chris’s chest is rising and falling heavily beneath Tom’s palm, his eyes blinking but not drifting away, yet he utters not a single sound.

 

This is so difficult, Tom thinks and swallows down his stiff throat, so very difficult to fend off this want, this need. This man, he is so beautiful up close, and he seems to be listening intently to each of Tom’s words with care.

 

Tom misses him so very much...

 

...He has missed him every day since the first time Chris had given him a ride home during that cold rainy evening all those weeks ago.

 

Unable to hold back any longer, Tom brings his hands to Chris’s face and cups both of his cheeks.

 

“It’s just a foolish interview. We’ll go up there and I’ll ramble about how much Loki is better looking in a suit than Thor, and you can sulk about it as much as you want in front of the camera. You can even pretend it’s not true or make a flimsy claim that a person’s character is more important than his looks and they’ll all cheer and clap their hands. I’ll smooth away a few more questions with some distracting puns and it’ll be over before you know it.”

 

Chris’s lips quirk into a little smile and Tom drinks it down, knowing that this farce of silence and nonchalance that he had imposed over himself had been nothing more than a cruel joke that choked him, a wrong done to him by his own hands.

 

He closes the distance between them and captures Chris’s lips with his own, sighing with relief at their mouths’ renewed acquaintance. This is what he wants.

 

Warm palms come to rest on his waist, pressing down on his flesh, urging him closer, and Tom is encouraged beyond his last remaining restraints.

 

 _Who knows when will I have another chance to do this_ , he thinks and opens his mouth, letting his tongue slide onto Chris’s lips until they pry open as well, and then it’s happening, they are kissing again.

 

“Tom,” Chris breaths into his mouth and brings his hand to cup the back of Tom’s neck, pulling him forward to deepen their kiss. Their tongue meet, and this feels good, so very good, Chris tastes exactly as Tom remembers it.

 

The fingers on his waist tighten, pulling him forward until their hips meet and they both moan into the kiss, causing blood to shoot into Tom’s groin and Chris to tear their mouths apart.

 

“Tom,” he pants into Tom’s ear, slowly rocking his hips forward again as he grips his waist.

 

His name echoes loudly across the room, and suddenly Tom remembers where they are and why.

 

“Chris, wait-,” He whispers reluctantly and pushes himself backwards to gain some distance between them, his body already mourning the loss of warmth.

 

Chris tightens his hold for a moment, preventing Tom from pulling back, then loosens his grip and lets him go.

 

“Okay, okay,” he says quietly among his heavy breaths, casts his eyes to Tom’s and brings his palm to rub his jaw, his other hand dropping to his side.

 

“I, I am-, What you said - it was good, it was very good,” Chris tries again and swallows. He seems to be struggling for words again, shaken.

 

Tom wants to embrace him close, but he feels his body too raw to carry it out, and so he waits.

 

“I am, I mean -”, Chris says unevenly, then the words die on his lips and he shakes his head in frustration.

 

It’s just then that a knock is heard from the door and they both part quickly from each other.

That executive peeks his head through the door, smiling at both of them as if there’s nothing short but a damn Christmas party waiting just for them to begin outside the bloody door.

 

“Ready guys? You’re on.”

 

Tom rearranges his waist coat and wipes the slight drops of sweat from his forehead, Chris stares forward and barely moves a muscle, and after Tom finds Chris’s eyes for the last time they mutter something positive at that strange man.

 

“Alright then,” odd man says, far too enthusiastic again, ”it’s showtime.”

  
  


\-------------

  
  


Tom leaves the room first and Chris follows behind, his thoughts running back and forth inside his head, capturing the scene that just erupted between them in the waiting room.

 

The brit is walking ahead of him, hips swaying in that appealing yet somehow still muscular way of his, attracting Chris’s eyes to linger on them as he follows.

 

He stands right behind Tom at the back stage, ready to be called up front, and Chris hears the staff’s calls, the electric hush of cameras rolling.

 

It has happened again, Chris thinks. Tom has come to stand close to him, touched him with gentleness, and he had surrendered.

 

He can blame his anger for their last encounter, deem it as a one-time slip, but a second incident - how can he clarify this with his conscious?

 

And the truth has remained just as it was almost three weeks before. Regardless of how difficult it is to carry the secret of what they’ve shared, it still feels good. Tom makes his blood burn with sensation.

 

Chris wants to speak, he wants to express himself, but he simply does not know what to say. He has spent so much of his life in distancing himself from this matter, of perceiving a man such as Tom as attractive, that he is at a complete loss of how to behave around this issue.

  
  


The crowd is cheering and clapping their hands, and the show’s host calls them both to the stage. Chris lets Tom lead the way, waits for him to take the seat closer to the host, and sits down next on the adjacent seat. He surveys the studio with his eyes.

 

The lights are too bright so he can barely see the crowd sitting in front of the stage, and yesterday’s disgraceful bailout call from the studios still tastes sour in his mouth, keeps his steps heavier when he walks, but he feels calmer about that matter at the moment.

 

He wants to make things better between him and Tom, but how?

 

How does a man tell another one that he is fine looking? That he is smart and talented? That Chris is afraid to hurt him?

 

Chris listens to Tom’s lively tone as he chats with the host, thinks about how naturally Tom had just come to say comforting words to him in the waiting room. While Tom is prickly and smooth-spoken, Chris fails to express his mind every time he attempts to converse with him, be it on the phone or face to face.

 

Glancing down at his tie, he sees that indeed - it now rests properly on his chest and the knot fits his neck just right.

 

It was a good move, he thinks with some dry humour.

 

This may be Tom's first time with a man, but he was certainly far more eloquent in this than Chris.

 

And regardless of how directly guilt and shame were pointing their fingers at him, Chris found it appealing.

 

Chris may not know how to say it, how to ask for it, but he wants to see Tom again.

 

He wants to talk this right.

 

He _wants_.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best, it wasn't much  
> I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch  
> I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you  
> And even though it all went wrong  
> I'll stand before the Lord of Song  
> With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a woman when a man has secrets to hide?  
> She'll be weak, she'll be strong, struggle hard for so long.
> 
> What's a woman when a man don't go by the rule?  
> What's a woman when a man makes her feel like a fool?
> 
> She will try to hold on to the ghosts of the past.
> 
> All alone in the dark she will swear - He'll never mislead her again.
> 
> She will swear, cross her heart,  
> Never again.
> 
>  
> 
> [What's a woman- Vaya Con Cios](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNRvI_PXWHg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> After posting the previous chapter, I felt that I was not careful enough with its content, which might have hurt some readers' feelings. For that, I apologize. This was a direct result of my lack of experience in publishing fiction. I thought that the background relationship tag would cover the business between Tom and Tiffany, but apparently it was not sufficient. 
> 
> And so, a new tag was added to the relationship section :)
> 
> From now on I shall place specific warnings ahead of every chapter which I might believe requires special warnings.
> 
> If any significant non-platonic interaction should happen between Chris or Tom with any of the other characters, I shall inform you ahead.
> 
> So, here is my first warning:
> 
> This chapter, the next one, and perhaps even the following to the next, are packed with intense emotions of many kinds. Our two heroes are experiencing a lot going on between the two of them and each one of them towards himself. 
> 
> Having said that, no violence occurs whatsoever and no harm comes to anyone. 
> 
> All comments are welcome, I would love to hear from you :)

Tom folds his trousers and carefully places them into the suitcase, meaning to keep its contents as well organized as he can manage.

 

Tomorrow night he is planned to board a flight to London in order to be present in one of England’s most famous annual film festivals. The festival will require five days of his time,  but his trip will amount to eight days as Tom plans to include a short visit to his family’s house as well.

 

It is slightly after ten pm when Tom’s mobile vibrates with an incoming call, and he sighs in trepidation as he gives the zipper the last pull and seals the suitcase. No good news usually come from these late night calls and Tom silently prays for no sudden changes in tomorrow’s schedule which might interrupt with his flight's timing.

 

He lowers his suitcase to the floor and walks towards the table in his living room, snatches the device, and takes a long shaky breath when he sees the name on the screen.

 

Of course, of course it’s him, Tom thinks sardonically. Leave it to Chris to call him when Tom is the least expecting him to.

 

They both have rebounded to their supposedly consensual silence since their joined interview which took place three days ago, and Tom’s internals were still holding a grudge against their behavior. By now, though, after their little encounter in that waiting room, his grudge is joined with some sadness.

 

It seemed that both of them had enjoyed the kiss they had shared in the small chamber, but even so, their quiet truce lingers.

 

Chris’s name still shines and pulses and Tom feels cautious. What if Chris is calling him in order to kindly rebuke him for overstepping some unspoken boundary between them?

 

The device continues to vibrate in his hand, challenging him to take the call before the call is missed. Tom feels his fingers tighten their hold on the device, feels his body contract in defensiveness and presses his teeth to his tongue.

 

_I will not be afraid of him._

 

Taking a deep breath, Tom swipes his finger on the screen and enables the call.

 

“Chris.”

 

Tom winces as he hears his own voice, coming out in a tone so severe, and lifts his index finger to smooth away the wrinkles from his forehead.

 

“Hey, good evening. How are you?”

 

The man always sounds so casual on the phone, Tom thinks petulantly, be the circumstances as unclear as smoke as they are.

 

“Good evening to you too. I’m fine, just finished arranging some clothes and washing the dishes, nothing exciting.”

 

When Chris says nothing, Tom continues.

 

“...And you? How are you doing?”

 

“I’m good, just good. You’re supposed to catch a flight to London tomorrow, am I correct? ”

 

Tom confirms his question and waits for the man to continue.

 

A longer pause takes place, and this time Chris clears his throat before talking.

 

“I was wondering whether I could come by. To your apartment, that is.”

 

Tom pulls the device an inch away from his ear and gazes vacantly at the living room.

 

His mind turns blank, as does his mouth.

 

“What do you think?” Chris’s voice pipes from the device after a moment.

 

His lips parted and still wordless, Tom eyes his apartment, quickly measuring its state and contemplates whether it’s presentable enough to receive a guest such as Chris.

 

This train of thought is so immediate, rushing through his mind as if out of a pure instinct, and Tom bites down an incredulous laugh.

 

He hesitates, but the answer is obvious. A visit from Chris before Tom's departure to the UK feels like an unexpected privilege. He would love to see him, indifference or not, the bastard.

 

“Right now you mean?” Tom asks, belly already tingling with excitement, pushing the previous grudge away.

 

“Yes, Is the hour too late for you?” Chris asks him, his voice uncertain.

 

“I’m sorry about that. I just wanted us to-, to talk a little before you leave.”

 

To talk. After weeks of almost nothing, the man wants to talk.

 

The sense of alert pokes Tom’s mind yet again, for he cannot begin to fathom what Chris wishes to say to him, but the opportunity to spend some quiet time alone with him brings to Tom’s mind some long awaited sense of resolve. He wants to see him.

 

He misses Chris.

 

“Yes, of course. You can come.”

 

“Ok, that’s great,” Chris says, then -

 

“Are you hungry? Should I bring something over with me?”

 

Tom smiles. Chris’s voice is gentle and polite. Despite the cool air between them, It will so be nice to have him over after so long.

 

“I’ve already had my dinner. Come on, water is getting cold. I’ll keep the door unlocked for you so I'll be able to take a shower. You can come in by yourself.”

 

“Alright. I’ll be there in a half an hour or so. I’ll see you soon then?”

 

“Indeed,” Tom says quietly and ends the conversation with a low exhale and looks around the dim apartment.

 

The flat has never felt the same since Chris had left through its door after their shared night together.

 

Tom spots a small plate with some food leftovers placed on the small cupboard nearby the window and rises to his feet to collect it, wanting to make sure the flat will be as presentable as possible when Chris arrives.

 

He bumps his knee into the table’s corner as he stands up, but instead of cursing it and sulking against the sharp pain, Tom chuckles to himself, his smile genuine and giddy on his way to the kitchen, as if the table has just told him a tender, heartwarming joke he could not resist.

  
  
  


\----------------------

  
  


Tom hears the door open as Chris enters the apartment, his steps receding in the direction of the living room. He dries his hair and his face, then takes a long look in the mirror, examining his facial features and hair.

 

The stupid smile won't come off his face, but he’s looking good tonight. Just fine.

 

Wearing a plain pair of sweatpants and long T-shirt covered by a sweat jacket, Tom exists the bathroom and enters the living-room.

 

Chris is there, sitting on the same couch he fell asleep on during the night of the party, now watching some nameless TV show, and Tom thinks that finally, finally the flat does not feel so overly spacious anymore.

 

 _Ridiculously hopeless sap that I’ve become_ , he muses when their eyes meet.

 

“Hello,” Chris says and stands up from his seat.

 

Tom mutters a quiet ‘hi' when they come to stand in front of each other, then lets his attention be drawn to an unfamiliar bottle containing a thick orange liquid which is placed on the living room’s table.

 

“What’s this?”

 

Chris shrugs, looking bashful.

 

“It’s a fresh mango juice. You said not to bring any food, but I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

 

Chris crinkles his forehead a little, as in thought, then continues.

 

“You like fruit juice, don’t you? I hear you ask for it sometimes during lunch breaks.”

 

“I do, I do,” Tom replies as timidly as a blushing maiden. He’s flattered again, because of a bottle of juice.

 

He fetches two cups from the kitchen, sets them on the table and sits down on the couch, putting a little more than a proper distance between him and Chris.

 

They exchange a few more pleasantries and Chris, if a bit quiet, looks comfortable enough and Tom pleasantly notes that he does not appear to be in a hurry to leave.

 

Soon enough, conversation flows easily between them and they talk about work, about future projects and laugh a little about some further foolishness playing on the TV.

 

Tom may not regret the pleasures they had shared between them, but he’s missed this too, he realizes. Chris is a funny, respectable man, a good friend and an ally.

 

Perhaps they will be able to maintain this easy going friendship between them after all.

 

Tom thinks that the notion is supposedly positive, but as their friendly conversation flows on and on so easily, it only increases the bitter taste in his mouth.

  
  


\-----------

  
  
  
  


After about an hour of an effortless chat, it happens that Tom yawns and rubs his eyes with fatigue.

 

“You’re tired, aren’t you,” Chris mutters after a moment.

 

“I suppose I am,” Tom replies, looking sideways to glance at Chris.

 

The man has changed his relaxed posture on the couch, now sitting up straight. It looks as if he is ready to get up from his seat at any given moment, and Tom’s body immediately tenses.

 

 _He’s leaving_ , Tom thinks with alarm, and his mouth turns reckless.

 

“Are you leaving soon?”

 

Chris says nothing for a moment, appearing to consider the question.

 

“I’m not sure. Soon I suppose, or perhaps a little later.”

 

Tom tilts his chin and nods, inspecting his empty cup in silence.

 

He remembers their kiss in that room, how good it had felt, real and tangible, running positive energy through his body once again, if only for mere moments.

 

Chris looks so calm again, so laid-back next to him, and Tom envies him for it.

 

They continue to watch the television, but Tom only hears the silence that hangs between them.

 

The man hasn’t said a single word about their encounter, hasn’t scolded Tom for kissing him, nor has he expressed anything else other than an amiable attitude. He has shown up at a late night’s hour with a bottle of juice in hand, shared a little chit chat with Tom, and soon he intends to leave.

 

Why did Chris come here? Does he wish them to be friends again? Are they moving on from a cordial hush-hush into a close-buddies status now?

 

He had reciprocated their kiss. He had kissed Tom back. How can he show up in his apartment and act like Tom’s best mate?

 

Tom turns to look at Chris and cocks his head at him.

 

“Why did you come here?”

 

Chris does not respond at first. It appears as if he continues to watch the television, but Tom senses he is taken aback with the sudden, forthright question.

 

“I wanted to see you,” he says eventually, his tone quiet.

 

A frown slowly forms on Tom’s face. He wants to remain patient.

 

“You wanted to see me,” he repeats Chris’s words quietly, then - “See me for what? For a friendly chat?”

 

Chris shakes his head slowly, his lips pursed.

 

“No, not for a friendly chat. Not only for that anyway, as I think it was rather nice. I-”

 

He releases a deep sigh, bringing his hand to rub the back of his neck.

 

“I wanted to see you, here in your flat, so we could talk.”

 

_Talk about what? About late night reality shows on TV? About no kissing in public places? About not coming near each other ever again?_

 

Tom bites his lip and keeps his mouth shut as he tries to calm himself. Nothing good will come out of being aggressive.

 

Chris looks at him, his eyes urgent.

 

“What I mean is that I want things to be better between us. We… We haven’t spoken much lately, and I am not sure what to make of it. ”

 

Tom listens attentively, his body warming up as their conversation deepens.

 

“What you said in that production room this Tuesday, about nobody being able to take my successes away from me, it was really nice. And--”

 

Chris coughs and clears his throat, clearly struggling for words.

 

“It made me want to talk to you, here in your apartment, alone, and so I came.”

 

Tom is staring at the television set even though he’s stopped watching it long ago.

 

He considers Chris’s words, searches for a suitable reply, and finds none as he isn’t sure of what exactly Chris is trying to say to him.

 

He does know, though, that a chat between two buddies is likely to rattle him more than anything else, as if Chris is courteously trying to imply that he prefers to ignore what had happened between them and now wishes them to turn back into what they used to be a few months ago - just friends.

 

Tom brings his palm to his face and rubs his eyes, feeling tired.

 

He wants to shove Chris away, to shout at the man for confusing him so, but he can’t.

 

“I am not really good at his, am I,” Chris mutters, looking so helpless, like a lost child, and it becomes Tom’s undoing. Soon enough, he is laughing quietly into his palm, unable to hold the tension in his stomach anymore.

 

His laughter echoes through the apartment for long seconds until it fades away and the lull of the night returns to fill the large gap between both of them.

 

The moments pass, and Tom realizes that Chris did not share his laughter.

 

“You have a lovely smile,” Chris suddenly says, making Tom pause.

 

“And that suit you wore for the interview. It was dark blue, I think,” Chris continues and nods blankly.

 

“It suited you well. You looked really nice,” he murmurs then clears his throat again.

 

“This is one of the things I wanted to tell you.”

 

Tom bows his head and shakes it slowly, his heart large in his chest. Such simple, everyday flattery, and he is completely, instantly taken with it.

 

The cushions move beneath him, and suddenly Chris is there, sitting close to him, his hand slowly lifting to Tom’s face. Chris's palm moves close until its fingertips brush Tom's cheek with a tenderness he has already forgotten Chris possess.

 

“I am not sure what else to say. You’re flying to the UK tomorrow, and I really wanted to see you.”

 

The touch is so gentle and warm, and suddenly the entire weight of the recent weeks’ struggle falls onto Tom’s shoulder, making him shudder.

 

He has been fighting his emotions for so long, has believed avoidance and dismissal were the right attitudes to act upon - and his own body has been punishing him in return, lacking his appetite for food and sending blunt sickness to creep just beneath the surface. He had slept with another woman, and he had felt his stomach being punched by how barren their intimacy had tasted, by how Chris had haunted his thoughts during Tom’s most private moments with her.

 

Chris moves his palm to Tom’s neck, cards his fingers through his hair, and Tom immediately closes his eyes as they begin to sting, his throat working down its fullness.

 

_I will not break down in front of him._

 

Unable to talk, Tom does not speak any further, soaking the man's warmth into his scalp until Chris removes his fingers from his hair and lowers his arm to rest across Tom’s shoulders.

 

More moments pass with no words until Chris leans over and kisses Tom’s cheek.

 

“You’re so quiet,” he murmurs and Tom chuckles dryly.

 

“That’s because you’ve robbed me of my dignity, Hemsworth.”

 

Chris pulls his face away and looks into Tom’s eyes.

 

“Your dignity?”

 

Tom nods. He is not sure why, but he simply knows this to be true. This man has stripped him bare.

 

Chris frowns and shakes his head, looking distraught.

 

“I deeply regret that.”

 

He means well, but the words scratch Tom’s skin raw.

 

“Don’t say that to me Chris. Do not speak to me about regrets. We did what we did.”

 

The words are harsh and biting and they knock their way out of Tom’s mouth, leaving him breathless.

 

Chris moves his fingers to hold onto the back of Tom’s neck, his expression stern.

 

“You misunderstood me.”

 

His grip is hot on his skin, and Tom swallows.

 

“I sure hope so,” he says defiantly, surrendering to the urge to turn his cheek in order to defend himself.

 

Chris must have caught his flare of insolence for he comes to hold onto Tom’s jaw and tilts his face until they look into each other’s eyes.

 

“I do not regret what we did. Do you understand this?”

 

Tom keeps his lips sealed and cants his head sideways, refusing to be held like this.

 

He believes Chris is not lying to him, but finds it difficult to trust him nevertheless.

 

Chris loosens his hold and lets Tom turn his head, but then he cups his cheek in a more gentle manner and angles his face to catch his eyes again.

 

Chris waits for Tom’s response, and when none comes, his expression turns resolute. He leans his face forward, never leaving Tom’s eyes as if making sure he’s allowed to approach so closely, and presses his lips to Tom’s.

 

Chris’s lips are cool and sour-sweet with juice remnants, and Tom moans inwardly, withholding himself from admitting his contentment out loud.

 

Chris opens his lips and Tom follows, but he does not initiate anything else, does not deepen the kiss any further.

 

He is leaving the United States tomorrow for more than a week, shall be far away from this place and this man, and tonight he wants to be the one who’s being kissed, not the other way around.

 

Chris kisses him gently, dragging his lips over Tom’s, parts their mouths for a moment, then kisses him once again. He brings his hand to run through Tom’s curls and pulls him close by his neck, kissing him with more intent, to which Tom surrenders this time and moans low in his throat.

 

Chris pulls away, watching Tom’s eyes as he releases his neck and sits back on the couch, removing his arms from Tom completely.

 

“You look tired and it’s late. Should I leave?” he asks quietly.

 

Feeling as if he’d just been awakened by a sharp slap to his wrist, Tom smirks. Nothing burns worse than Chris’s sudden departures.

 

The man had chosen to show up in his apartment in a late night’s hour, has behaved almost like a happy colleague, decided to touch and kiss him, then ramble about the sodding late hour right afterwards. Chris will be the one to choose whether he leaves or stays. Tom will not help him with this.

 

“Don’t ask me what you should do. Do what you think is right.”

 

Upon hearing this, Chris grunts and shakes his head, clearly unhappy with Tom’s words. He sits back heavily and drops his back onto the sofa’s cushion with a low thud.

 

Tom watches his display and shakes his head as well, his lips pressed tightly together.

 

 _Bugger this_ , he thinks, and rises from the couch, takes the cups with him and turns to walk to the kitchen.

 

He places the cups in the sink and hears the couch slowly creaking as Chris rises from it to stand up. Tom listens to his strides as Chris walks to the apartment’s door and curses under his breath.

 

Quickly, he leaves the kitchen and meets Chris nearby the door.

 

The man looks both helpless and irritated at the same time.

 

“I don’t understand you. You want me to decide by myself whether I stay here or leave?” Chris asks him, exasperated.

 

“I honestly don’t know what to do,” he adds with a frown.

 

The man is standing very close to the door, and Tom remembers how he had left in the middle of the night all those weeks ago, leaving Tom lonely and dumbstruck behind. He also remembers very well that there is a wife in this equation, and that the more Chris stays with him, the longer she waits for her husband to return home.

 

He thinks of Tiffany, of how by spending more time with Chris he damages his opportunity for some healthier, more feasible relationship.

 

And for the life of him, Tom cannot find it within himself to actively send this man home.

 

“I cannot help you with these decisions,” he says with a sigh.

 

He wants Chris to stay and spend more time with him. He can fight his own will, but the battle is hollow.

 

“But you are welcome to stay.” he continues, his breath coming a little short as he is about to put his ego on the line.

 

“I'm going to bed."

 

_I'm a fool. A guilty, weakened fool._

 

"You can join me, or you can leave.”

 

Tom takes a hesitant step towards Chris, touches his neck then squeezes his shoulder, denying himself any further touch which may intensify and bend him even further. He releases the man shortly after and turns to walk to his bedroom.

 

As he is walking down the hallway, Tom does not hear the apartment’s door opening to let someone out, nor does he hear any steps following him.

 

He enters his bedroom and leans his head on the nearest wall, coughing a few times on his dry throat until he calms down. He is filled with dread upon either choice that Chris makes.

 

The apartment is completely silent, and Tom knows Chris is still standing there, right next to the door. He listens carefully for any sound coming from the doorway, but none comes.

 

With his heart thrumming in his chest, Tom waits.

 

His blood is flowing, his body feels ready to pounce, yet Tom is not sure who is the hunter and who is being hunted in this game.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross my heart, never again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a man's world,  
> This is a man's world,  
> But it would be nothing, nothing,  
> Without a woman or a girl.
> 
> He's lost in the wilderness,  
> He's lost in bitterness.
> 
> [ It's A Man's, Man's, Man's World - James Brown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHz5AuXHejc)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> This chapter is long and packed with plot, but I still felt that it needed to be told in a single breath.  
> I hope you will understand my intention once you finish reading.
> 
> Warnings -  
> This chapter contains plenty of intense emotions, conversations, and physical interactions.  
> Please review the tags of this story - almost all of them apply in this chapter.
> 
> No violence occurs, nobody gets harmed.
> 
> This was a very challenging chapter for me to assemble, and I would love to know what you think, both good and .... Err, not so good :)
> 
> Enjoy :)

Tom has always been a curious human being.

 

In his life, he had experienced physical touch with exactly two young men, back when he was in acting school. Both occasions had happened on friendly yet inquisitive circumstances - Hours were spent together in the studio, a few shy smiles were exchanged on the way home or in an empty rehearsal room, and it simply happened, kisses were shared, embraces turned into a heated press of bodies.

 

Both men were of the same age with Tom, young teenagers, both whom he had considered handsome, and, he smiles to himself when he sometimes remembers, they were both considerably shorter than him.

 

Kissing a man had felt nice, if very different than kissing a woman. On both occasions Tom’s male partner’s mouth had felt much coarser than a woman’s, tongue sensed stronger inside his mouth, the lack of a bosom striking him as odd.

 

There was this general firmness of a male body which threw off the entire balance between two bodies coming in contact, the only balance Tom had been familiar with back then.

 

Both experiences had felt rather positive for him, but no remarkable awareness regarding affairs with men had grown within Tom afterwards. He found nothing repulsive about kissing a person from the same sex, and yet - he did not feel inclined to conduct these deeds any further.

 

Women were prettier, more attractive, their touch and company felt considerably more engaging, and generally Tom had sensed no urge to pursue men once his basic curiosity was satisfied.

 

He had come to know many good looking people in his line of work during his adult life, both women and men, yet no man has ever gone past that boundary of being perceived as visually appealing to Tom.

 

No man, but for one.

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


Yes. Obviously, Chris was a handsome man. Tom was able to see it just as much as everyone else.

 

He and Chris had found some good chemistry between them since the very beginning of when their professional paths had crossed. They had shared good humour, mutual respect, and some general positive air which had allowed a pleasant friendship to grow between them.

 

Tom has never been able to put his finger on the heart of the matter, but as time passed, he thought that there was something particular about Chris. Not in specific traits or habits, but rather in the man as a whole.

 

Chris has always been a kind, decent man towards his surroundings, all while still maintaining his professionalism intact.

 

They were both good actors, good professionals, yet quite different from each other in their essence. Chris was more of an introvert, whereas Tom was more outgoing and talkative. While Chris was kind and gentle, Tom was charming and friendly.

 

Tom soon discovered that an engaging professional opponent was acting by his side, and a natural sense of competition had grown within him.

 

Tom had wanted to compete this man who seemed like a fine contestant, had wanted to best him, to feel that his charisma could outshine Chris’s timid smile, that his sharp humour could surpass the man’s more relaxed, attentive demeanor.

 

And best him Tom did. Multiple times even. He occasionally got to be invited for more interviews, more talk shows and even got to be cast into more roles than Chris in a certain period of time. Tom was proud of himself as well, for all his achievements had been well earned by a genuine manner of hard work, patience and continuous devotion to his target.

 

It was then, during those occasions of assumed triumphs that Tom has come to discover the true virtue of his competitor.

 

Chris had been aware of the friendly race which had circulated between them, Tom had no doubt of it. And still, whenever Tom had managed to outdo him in a certain manner, Chris had constantly been admirably graceful about it, heartily congratulating him for his excellence with a warm slap to his back. Furthermore, Chris had always had that ability to put his ego aside and actually take an interest in Tom’s accomplishments, ask him for details about them, and above of all - wish Tom further success and encourage him past his occasional doubts with a delightful, sincere smile.

 

Those unexpected gestures had surprised Tom every time anew, and soon he had found himself sharing personal details with Chris about his career, his plans for the future and professional tactics he deemed as profitable for himself.

 

That sharing of honesty, of friendship, of personal achievements, had slowly made Tom realize that more than being just handsome, Chris was nothing short of an enticing, beautiful person.

 

Tom grew to enjoy their times together, appreciate their challenging debates, and eventually - savor their irregular close physical proximity while engaging private conversations.

 

He never let himself think too much of his tender fondness for Chris, for the man was a married man, a father.

 

It was an emotion Tom perceived as one he would never be able to act upon, for how would he approach a committed person, and not even a woman, but a man?

 

It was like living with a delicate, disciplined emotion which trailed in the far corners of his mind, blossoming when Chris was standing close enough to him, when they laughed at goofs during their filming days, when Chris shared his humble, sweet nature with Tom.

 

Chris was unreachable, an aspiration never to be conquered. Tom had even felt thankful for it for a while, for it made things so much easier, or so he told himself.

 

But nowadays, when Tom muses about the man’s warm arms and mouth, he knows that this emotion had never really been tamed to let go of its want for the man.

 

That not-so-small wish to feel Chris, to have a chance with him, if only a temporary one, was simply waiting for the right opportunity to materialize.

 

And when Chris had held his wrists, had pulled him close and brought their lips close enough to touch, Tom’s sentiment had seized the opportunity, and it had pounced on its target.

  
  
  
  


But what do you do, exactly, when instead of catching your prize, it storms right back, takes over your heart and captures you instead?

  


 

 

\------@@@@@@------

  
  
  


Minutes pass.

 

The apartment has never felt so still and motionless as it does now.

 

Chris is still standing by the door, Tom hasn’t heard him move a single step, and he fights down disappointment.

 

_He’s not coming._

 

His damaged ego urges him to change his clothes into his briefs, head into the bed and be done with it. Chris will eventually find his way out and leave, and Tom does not want to hear the apartment’s door closing as it ushers him out once again.

 

He’s on his way to his cupboard to pull out some fresh boxers from it, still holding his breath despite himself, when hesitant steps echo through the hallway.

 

His ears perk up and he looks sideways to his bedroom’s door. The steps are slow and indecisive, but soon he understands that they are approaching his room, not exiting the door, and Tom coughs again as his heart rides hard in his chest.

 

When he hears the steps stop by the room’s doorway he turns around and sees Chris leaning on the doorframe, hands in his pockets. He acknowledges Tom with his eyes only, his face unreadable.

 

Tom favors him with the same blank expression, yet his blood is rushing through. For a single moment, he feels like the hunter between them, as strong as he wishes to be.

 

_He’s still here._

 

“You’re still here.”

 

Chris nods at him.

 

“I am,” he says, then -

 

“You do have your way with words,” Chris adds, but his tone is so blank while holding his spot nearby the door that Tom is not sure how to respond.

 

Not wanting to continue standing aimlessly in the middle of his bedroom, Tom removes his sweat jacket and nears his bed. When he is about to pull off his shirt Tom peeks behind him, sees that Chris is still stagnant, watching him from his stance near the door, and he pauses.

 

A biting remark rises in Tom, about Chris hovering in the doorway like a craven pet, but he swallows it down.

 

“Don’t just stand by the door like this please.”

 

Chris nods curtly and straightens up from the doorframe, pulling his hands out of his pockets.

 

“Yea, sure,” he mutters, then steps into the room. He looks at the bed then at Tom in a silent question, then Tom nods and gestures the bed with his hand. After he settles down, Tom gingerly sits next to him.

 

More moments pass with both of them wordless, and Tom senses the heat radiating from Chris’s side, knows that they are both, yet again, alone in his bedroom, and despite being anxious, there is a note of contentment in him.

 

“This is difficult,” Chris says quietly and Tom casts his eyes to the floor, afraid to ask what he means exactly. What is difficult? Lying to his wife? The uncertainty between them? Something negative he wishes to tell Tom? Is it about them both being men?

 

“It’s like I fail with you, no matter what I try to do, every damn time.”, he says and Tom pauses on the spot, taken aback by the blunt words, absently trying to remember when was the last time he had heard Chris swearing.

 

“And this… this _thing_ , carrying it inside me all the time, I never know what to say to you, and I haven’t the faintest idea of how to deal with this… this tension.”

 

The words are quiet but earnest, and Tom listens intently to Chris’s voice, as per usual, fascinated by the man’s rare display of raw emotion.

 

“I hardly even know what to say to myself. Like a complete idiot.”

 

And after this, Chris speaks no more, and Tom feels his words sink into him.

 

He had thought that the animosity between them had been easier on Chris, letting him move on with his life and forget whatever he wished to forget, but apparently, it is not so. Chris claims not to regret what they have done, but he is obviously frustrated with this whole uncertain business between them.

 

And this-, this is the second time Tom practically invites this man into his bed. A man with a wife and children who is his colleague and friend.

 

Why did Chris stay if he felt like this? Why is he sitting on his bed?

 

“I am sorry you feel this way,” Tom says. He wants to comfort him further, but his body is sealed.

 

Tom turns around and looks straight into Chris’s eyes.

 

“You don’t have to carry anything inside you anymore. Do you want to forget everything that has happened? Do you want us to be friends?”

 

The man blinks at him, looking confused, but Tom feels his resolve harden. He will know Chris’s mind, even if he has to be blunt about this.

 

“We had sex on this bed. Do you want to forget that night? Do you want to be my best mate again?”, Tom pauses and swallows. He can handle whatever this man throws at him. Chris will not break him.

 

“Tell me the truth,” he says and Chris inhales deeply then returns his gaze.

 

“No, I do not.”

 

Tom’s heart kicks in his chest and he continues.

 

“Did you come here tonight to sleep with me then?”

 

He tells himself that if Chris did come only for sex, it’s fine. He can take it.

 

Chris’s gaze falls to Tom’s lap then back to his face.

 

“I did think about it, but no, I did not come here just to sleep with you. I wanted to see you. I didn’t know what would happen afterwards.”

 

Tom holds Chris’s gaze for one more moment, as if making sure he’s being honest, then averts his eyes again forward again.

 

Moments pass with no further exchange, and slowly, relief sounds through Tom’s body.

Chris is solid beside him, and he turns his head sideways to look at the man’s profile, his lips curving into an uncontrollable small smile.

 

_Such a ridiculous, beautiful man._

 

Tom reaches to place his palm on Chris’s knee, then leans his head over the Chris’s shoulder. He pulls his fingers just above the knee then presses down, holding onto Chris’s lower thigh.  

 

The shoulder beneath Tom’s cheek rises and drops with deep breaths, and tentatively, Chris turns his head and rubs his jaw against Tom’s forehead.

 

“You’re not making this easier,” Chris mutters, and Tom knows it to be true enough.

 

He is never soft with Chris, and rarely, if ever, cuts him any slack.

 

“No, I am not,” he replies, then tilts his head upwards to catch Chris’s mouth, who resists him only for a moment, then agrees to turn his face and press their lips together.

 

Chris is tentative at first, playing small kisses on his mouth, and when Tom opens his mouth and slides his tongue through Chris’s lips, Chris reaches to hold his arm and pushes him slightly away.

 

“You want this then? Are you sure?” he asks, and Tom wants to tell him that at the moment, there’s nothing he wants more than this, both of them together on his bed, bodies warm and animosities gone.

 

“Yeah,” he utters daftly instead and brings his arm around Chris’s neck, pulling him for another kiss, and that’s all there is.

 

It feels like coming home after long weeks of manual labour in a foreign, cold country, where Tom can finally slip into a warm bed of soft, welcoming sheets.

 

Finally, finally they are kissing again, and in a private place, where they don’t have to be in alert lest they will be seen, and it’s warm and quiet.

 

Chris kisses him back, warm and deep, rubbing their noses together affectionately between kisses, then reaches with hand his to hold onto Tom’s waist. The fingers tighten just below his ribs and Tom thinks Chris might try to pull him over onto his lap, but then Chris turns his face away and rests his cheek against Tom’s, his breath short, just below his ear.

 

“Would you lie on your side with your back to me?”, he asks quietly, already leaning his body over Tom’s, bearing them both to lie onto the bed.

 

Muscles tense, Tom follows Chris’s lead and lets himself be pushed to lie on his back, and time starts to run.

 

It happens so fast, he barely registers it happening, and Tom feels himself hard beneath his sweatpants, Chris’s lips on his neck, and he is climbing on top of him, pushing a knee between Tom’s legs.

 

The sensation is so unexpected, Tom has never been placed into such a position beneath a flat chest, pressed down by a solid weight of a person who is physically larger than him, and instinctively his arm wraps around Chris’s neck, pulling him close for comfort.

 

Chris moves his mouth along Tom’s jaw, releasing some of Tom’s grip on his neck and hovers just above his mouth.

 

He readjusts his legs again, then grinds himself against Tom’s thigh, making them both moan at the same time.

 

Chris is hard too, Tom feels it, hot and real, and the sensation of that disquieting vulnerability blends with his thirst for this man, causing his head drop back onto the pillow, lips parted and eyes closed.

 

Chris kisses him lightly, then braces himself onto his forearms next to Tom’s head as he continues to grind his hips forward, his breath quickening. He invests one, two harsher thrusts into Tom’s pelvis, then ceases to move and brings his forehead to rest on Tom’s jaw.

 

“Would you turn around then?” he rasps onto Tom’s skin, hauling himself to lie on his side next to him.

 

Tom opens his eyes as the weight is removed from him and stares at the ceiling, nodding in affirmation and swallowing down some extra saliva down his throat.

 

He remembers that they are still fully clothed and when he sees Chris removing his shirt, he quickly, if a bit clumsily, pulls his own shirt off, shivering at cool night’s air hitting his chest.

 

With his arms Tom shifts himself to lie on his side and feels Chris sliding behind him, his thighs hovering at the back of Tom’s legs.

 

An arm curls around his waist and a palm comes to rest on his belly, dragging him backwards to first let his back meet Chris’s chest, a sensation which drags a sigh from Tom’s mouth. Fingers travel downwards to hold on his hip bone, slowly pulling his midsection backwards as well until Chris’s clothed erection presses against his backside, and Chris groans, nose tickling his nape.

 

“You feel so good, even with clothes on,” he mutters.

 

Chris kisses his shoulders, the back of his neck and lowers his palm to hold on the waistband of Tom’s sweatpants with his fingers, gently tugging them down with a silent request for permission to continue.

 

“Let me,” Tom says quietly and pulls both his pants and briefs down his legs, hearing the rustle of jeans as Chris does the same.

 

They both settle along each other again at the same position as before, his back to Chris’s front, and for a few moments the lull of the night fills the air between them.

 

“The oil and condoms are in the cupboard?” Chris asks and Tom hums in affirmation, his belly curling in nervousness.

 

He listens carefully as Chris reaches to the cupboard next to the bed, pulls the first drawer then the second one open and gropes for his targets. He comes back to lie behind Tom again, the sounds of rubber being stretched and pulled, then of a small bottle being uncorked and the fold of oiled palms as Chris rubs them together.

 

Chris closes the distance between them again, then fingers reach to Tom’s behind, inching closer to his core.

 

“Is this ok?” Chris speaks behind him, his breath warm over Tom’s nape.

 

 _No, it’s not, I will never be ready enough for this_ , he thinks, but his heart pushes him forward, almost violently, to take what it wants, to be closer to this man.

 

“Go on,” is Tom’s finest answer, his voice almost a whisper.

 

“Alright, but tell me,”  Chris says as he tenderly searches for Tom’s entrance, his voice hoarse just as well, then carefully pushes his finger inside, and Tom whimpers as the sensation of being breached holds his body.

 

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Chris continues, slowly moving his finger in and out of Tom’s flesh, placing small kisses on his neck. His movements are gradual but sure with purpose, his other arm palming Tom’s shoulder blade, humming in contentment when Tom cants his hips to meet his ministrations.

 

Chris reaches down to grip the back of Tom’s thigh and pushes it forward a little, opening him further, and maneuvers a second finger inside. He rolls his wrist a few more times, then gently pulls it away and places his fingers on Tom’s hip bone.

 

“I’m gonna do it, ok?” Chris speaks quietly behind him.

 

“Fine, I’m fine,” Tom gives him his anxious assent, preparing himself.

 

“Ok,” Chris murmurs and inches forward while holding onto his waist, and Tom’s eyes are tightly shut, his face turning inwards into the bed, nose brushing the linens - waiting,  attempting to soothe his restlessness.

 

He’s afraid again, of the pain that might come, of Chris leaving again right after they finish.

 

Gently, Chris guides himself into position, presses against his opening, and Tom bucks away, unable to keep still.

 

“Relax,” Chris says softly, pulling Tom backwards to him and tries again, this time holding Tom from jerking forward and penetrates the first two inches of himself inside.

 

_Oh, but it hurts._

 

“You- are a bastard,” Tom stammers into the linens, fingers gripping the sheets.

 

“Relax, breath,” Chris grates at him, his voice muffled by his deep breathing, and he sways his hips forward, eliciting a moan from Tom as he inches more than a half way into him.

 

“Ow-”, Chris groans behind him, his forehead falling onto the back of Tom’s head, and he does not wait anymore, pushing his pelvis against Tom’s arse again, this time going all the way inside.

 

“Oh, Thomas,” he stutters into Tom’s shoulder, “How sweet you are,” and Tom opens his eyes, carefully listening to the man’s words and staring at the night sky through the window.

 

Chris halts his movements and moves his palm to hover above Tom’s groin, and Tom licks his lips, reminded of his cock, hard and ready, waiting to be touched after all these weeks of empty pleasures.

 

“Come on, Chris,” Tom rasps at Chris’s hesitation, taking hold of the man’s palm with his own and pushing it downward to cup him, causing them both to moan at his dare.

 

“Ah-,” he pants and cants his hips forward, pressing himself into the man’s palm, still holding it in place lest it moves away.

 

“Tom,” Chris whispers into his ear and starts rolling his hips back and forward in a steady, slow rhythm while stroking Tom accordingly.

 

His fingers are slick and large, sliding over his skin, and Tom parts his lips, the memory of being penetrated and being stroked returning to him.

 

“Your hips,” Chris murmurs, his nose in Tom’s hair, rocking both of their bodies along with his mild thrusts and his hand on Tom’s cock, keeping him hot and close to the edge but not quite.

 

“There’s just something about them-,”

 

Chris deepens his hip’s pace, his strokes long and precise, lulling the pain in his rear and stirring a knot in his stomach, and Tom feels full.

 

“I look at them, and they make me think of you, like this, with me,” he says and bites onto the back of Tom’s neck.

 

“Uh, Chris,” Tom moans in return and Chris answers with a sudden harsh thrust.

 

“Come on,” Chris pants at him, “Come on, come for me.”

 

“Don’t stop,” Tom stammers again, his hand still covering Chris’s fingers, guiding him into the right pace and adding pressure when necessary, and his body is so very tight, so very close.

 

“I’ve missed this,” Chris tells him, his cock hard, branding him from inside, and oh, his throat is tight, how can Chris say such a thing to him, is he not afraid, Tom wants to keep him here, every night just like this-

 

“Chris, I-- can’t” he pants, the room echoing his sharp breaths and whimpers and then he comes, hard and harsh into Chris’s fingers. Chris grunts onto his back, holding him through it, his thrusts languid and slow, riding off Tom’s waves of pleasure.

 

As his body slowly slackens, Chris removes his hand from Tom’s crotch, making him hiss at the sensitive flesh. He drags his palm along one of the sheets to clean off Tom’s spend on it and reaches to Tom’s throat, caressing his fingers along his skin.

 

“You were lovely.”

 

Tom exhales audibly, his chest soaked with Chris’s affection, and reaches backwards to brush his fingers against Chris’s thigh.

 

Still holding his throat, his breath sharp, Chris grinds his hips against Tom’s arse a few times, releases some of the strain into his flesh, then slows into a halt.

 

“Turn on your stomach please,” he asks, already pushing Tom by his shoulder onto his belly.

 

 _How low I’ve fallen, and how disgustingly sweet it feels_ , Tom thinks with hot spite as he turns onto his front, his arse being pulled upwards to Chris’s liking as he takes a position on his knees between Tom’s legs.

 

Tom hears oil being spread, and then a hand lands on his back, palming him earnestly.

 

“Are you feeling alright? Can I do it?”

 

And somehow, when he’s like this, on his hands and knees, this extended gentleness, these affectionate words that come after weeks of naught, they are all too much.

 

“For god’s sake Chris, I am not your tender girlfriend, and I won’t break. Do it.”

 

Chris is probably taken aback with his words, for the palm on his back pauses for a moment,  and not even the man’s breaths are heard around the room anymore.

 

“I wish I had a mouth half as sharp as yours,” Cris says after a while, then grips Tom’s hips, keeping him still as he pushes his way into his arse, sliding in his hard length all the way in a single stroke.

 

“Uh, god, Chris,” Tom whimpers and drops his head between his shoulders at the swift intrusion.

 

Chris groans in approval, his thrusts immediately becoming quick and sharp, his cock piercing Tom’s flesh again and again.

 

“Still-, so tight,” he croaks, hands viciously holding onto Tom’s waist and ribs.

 

There are no more words upon Chris’s lips after this, his grunts filling the room along with Tom’s matching gasps, his thrusts harsh and bold, until he grabs onto Tom’s neck, bucks his final thrust, cock buried to the hilt inside Tom’s rear, and then comes with a hacked moan, body shuddering.

 

Slowly the fingers on Tom’s neck release him, but Chris remains sheathed within his body, taking his final, demanding thrusts, his fingers gently kneading into Tom’s lower back until he withdraws himself out and leaves the bed to get rid of the condom.

 

Tom lowers himself carefully back onto the bed, grimacing at the burn in his rear and the emptiness in his chest.

 

Chris comes back to lie next to him, fingers tenderly carding through Tom’s hair.

 

“Are you in pain?”

 

Tom lets his eyes fall shut, enjoying the man’s kind touch and says that no, he is fine.

 

“Good, I’m glad,” Chris says, runs his knuckles along Tom’s cheek and down his jaw, then lies on his back next to Tom, eyes staring at the ceiling.

 

The room is silent but warm and peaceful, and Tom looks at Chris, the simple sense of happiness rushing through him at the sight of the man lying like this on his bed with him.

 

Cautiously, he reaches his hand to touch Chris’s lean stomach.

 

“Are you thirsty? Can I get you something?”

 

_Stay a little bit longer._

 

“Some water would be nice,” Chris replies with a small smile and Tom snorts in return.

 

“The kitchen is stacked with food and drink that I buy but rarely consume. Do you want some wine? Some whiskey perhaps?”

 

Chris shakes his head.

 

“No, no alcohol. Soda would be nice, though, if you have any.”

 

“Such a delicate man,” Tom snickers at him and straightens up from the bed. He has to push the nearby cupboard away from the bed a little in order to snatch his boxers from the floor and wears them on, feeling rather exposed in the cool night’s air.

 

“Soda it is, my prince. I’ll be right back.”

 

He takes a trip to the bathroom to relieve himself on his way, gazing at his flushed face in the mirror while washing his hands. His whole body is thrumming with small tremors.

 

It takes him a few moments to find the soda, serve it into a cup and pop a few ice cubes into it. For himself, he pours another cup of the mango juice Chris brought with him. He finds that he likes it a lot.

 

When he re-enters the bedroom, Tom finds Chris sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his boxers, his front to door the where Tom is standing. He is leaning his elbows on his knees, looking at his something his hands are holding, which Tom recognizes immediately as a familiar small pack of postcards

 

Chris lifts his head when he hears Tom stepping into the room and smiles shyly at him.

 

“Where did you find these?” Tom asks him, feeling somewhat awkward at seeing Chris looking at something he considers very private. He must have knocked them off the cupboard’s inner shelf when he pushed it.

 

“I saw them on the floor after you left for the kitchen. I think they fell off the cupboard,” Chris replies and lifts his eyes to look at him.

 

“I hope you don’t mind me going through them. I got curious.”

 

Chris takes the offered cup, and Tom sits next to him, laughing to himself. This is unexpected, but he’ll handle this.

 

Chris turns back to look at the postcards, inspecting each of them with care until reaching the last one then begins going through them all over again.

 

“They look old.”

 

Tom nods, gradually relaxing, glancing at the postcards from his angle behind Chris’s shoulder. He hasn’t looked at them in months, perhaps even longer.

 

“They are. I used to collect them as a boy and hang them on the wall in my room on the nearest wall to my bed, just above my pillow.”

 

Chris turns to look at him with a grin on his face, obviously delighted with the revelation, and Tom smiles at him in return, feeling shy.

 

The stack Chris is holding is a collection of postcards Tom used to collect as a young boy. All of the postcards feature photographs of horses, most of them galloping, while in the background one could see various scopes of nature such as mountains, oceans and plains. Tom has been carrying this collection with him ever since he had left his parents’ house, keeping it close to him as a personal memory of his childhood and his home.

 

Tom hasn’t really shared this collection with anybody else and finds it funny that of all the people, Chris is the first one to see these postcards.

 

“You liked horses then?” Chris finally asks.

 

“I did. Still do actually. They are strong, beautiful animals.” Tom replies quietly.

 

Chris considers his words then turns to look at him again.  “And which one is your favorite?”

 

Tom cocks his head at him and Chris laughs.

 

“I’m just curious. Which one do you like most?”

 

Hesitantly, Tom reaches into the stack in Chris’s hands, pulls one of the postcards out and places it on the front.

 

The choice is fairly easy. There was one postcard he used to love most as a boy and after all these years he finds he still considers it as his favorite. The chosen postcard features a single black horse, the photo taken with all of its four legs in the air while riding in the wilderness of the West Highlands of Scotland. That horse looks as wild as the wind, and Tom had loved watching it as a boy whenever he had felt sad, envisioning himself just as free and strong as that horse, galloping through the cool air into the mountains.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Chris says quietly, and Tom nods, blushing like the little boy that he used to be.

 

Yes, Tom thinks as he watches Chris’s large hand holding delicately onto the small postcard, it is.

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


There is something he needs to remember.

 

This night is not like the others, and he needs to wake up and find out if everything is in order, Tom thinks, stirring in his sleep.

 

What has happened? He had done something important, had been fixing his luggage for tonight’s flight, and then-

 

Tom’s eyes shoot open.

 

Still half asleep, he lifts his head from the pillow and turns to look at the other side of the bed.

 

“Chris?” he croaks, voice muffled with the sensation of dry cotton in his mouth.

 

Tom squints his eyes in the faint light coming from the window until they come into focus and catches the silhouette of a man lying next to him.

 

Chris turns his head slightly, eyeing Tom.

 

“Hey.”

 

At the sound of the man’s voice, Tom drops his head back to the pillow, his body relaxing back into the mattress after the rush of the sudden alert.

 

_He’s still here._

 

Feeling tired both in mind and body, Tom falls into a short, light doze, then reawakens again when the increased warmth in his bed pulls him back into consciousness.

 

When he opens his eyes this time, he sees Chris looking at him.

 

“Hello again,” he murmurs and Tom chuckles.

 

Chris seems to be wide awake, lying on his back with his arm tucked beneath his head and the other one absently itching his belly. It appears that Chris did not fall asleep like Tom did after they had finished their drinks and arranged themselves next to each other on the bed.

 

“For how long have I been asleep?” he asks with a yawn.

 

“Hmm… Around twenty minutes I think, more or less,” Chris answers, then turns his head back to look at the ceiling.

 

Tom nods and continues to look at the man’s profile, replaying the cutting words he had thrown at Chris while they were still in their act. He would never speak like this to a woman who shared his bed and wonders what is it about Chris, besides the fact of him being a man, that triggers Tom into such taunting impudence.

 

Tom rubs his eyes then sighs into his palm. It’s as if he wants to wrestle Chris down to the ground with his punches while wishing to kiss and embrace him at the same time.

 

Tom pushes himself onto his elbows and draws himself closer to Chris. When close enough, he reaches his fingers to caress the man’s jaw then his hair, his blue eyes watching Tom silently.

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tom half whispers, then tentatively leans his head towards Chris’s, cups his cheek and kisses him gently, once, twice.

 

When Chris offers no response but pliancy, arm tucked beneath his head, Tom leans to kiss him again, opens his lips, coaxing Chris’s to open under his own and braces his hand to hold onto Chris’s neck, pulling him closer.

 

The man lets Tom kiss him, but when Chris continues to show nothing more than basic reciprocation, Tom pulls back, his eyebrow raised at the challenge.

 

“You are thinking about something.”

 

Still watching Tom’s eyes, then his lips, Chris works his jaw, and Tom knows he’s right.

 

“What is it?”

 

Chris breaths deeply but replies none, his face completely blank.

 

“Tell me,” Tom urges him, fingers massaging the back of Chris’s neck.

 

The man turns to look at the ceiling for a moment, as if weighing his next words, then returns to look straight into Tom’s eyes.

 

“Are you and Tiffany seeing each other?”

 

The words require but a mere moment to be fully interpreted, then instantly Tom’s heart falls as if he’s been punched in the chest.

 

Tiffany? How does he know about her?

 

Body tensing in defensiveness, he wants to deny everything, but Tom won’t lie about this. Chris will hate him for it.

 

“We’ve seen each other a few times, yes,” he replies, the words sensing like led in his mouth. He tells himself he has done nothing wrong, but it is naught but a feeble attempt to calm himself.

 

Chris’s face remains absolutely expressionless, his eyes holding Tom’s for long moments until they fall shut and Chris slightly turns his head sideways, as if sleeping.

 

“Ok. Alright.”

 

Tom extracts his hand from beneath Chris’s neck and lays his palm on his chest, sensing the man’s muscles stiff under his fingers.

 

No- no, no. This is not how it was supposed to happen. Not right now, when they are finally in his bed together again.

 

“How did you come to hear about this?”

 

Chris’s chest rises slowly beneath his palm. He is thinking, but his eyes won’t open.

 

“I did not hear about this specifically. I met her twice this week, during interviews, and each time she saw me, after laying out the interviews schedule, she asked me regarding your whereabouts, how you are doing. It made me wonder, but I wasn’t sure.”

 

Upon hearing this, Tom’s mind races for clarifications. Did she ask Chris about him after the night Tom had left right after they had slept together? Did she mean anything by these questions? And why did she turn to Chris? Does she…

 

No, it can’t be. She has no idea about them. Not the slightest.

 

“I told her nothing,” Tom says quickly.

 

“I know. It didn’t seem like it when she asked me, and I did not think you did. I just wondered, and so I asked,” Chris says quietly, still refusing to open his eyes and look at Tom.

 

The man appears so distant in his thoughts, his body tense, and Tom leans closer to him, needing to explain.

 

“Chris, she’s… she’s just-”

 

Chris turns his head at that, his eyes finally reopening, looking at Tom.

 

“She’s just what? She’s a woman you are dating,” he says, his tone flat, and slowly a frown forms on his face.

 

“Is she a tender girlfriend to you then? Is that why you said those words to me earlier? ”

 

Tom shakes his head at the man, cursing his pride, his ego.

 

“No, no, I did not mean it like this.”

 

Chris holds his stare a bit longer, then exhales deeply, looking tired. Tom wants to run his fingers through his hair and pull him close, but the man’s body is still rigid beneath his palm, and he resists the impulse.

 

“It’s only fair, though, isn’t it,” Chris suddenly says, his voice hollow.

 

“I have my wife, and you have a lady of your own.”

 

_Oh Chris, oh no._

 

Tom almost tells him that Tiffany is only there because he is confused and what he has with her is simple and familiar. That she is Tom’s attempt to hold back his emotions for Chris  from growing stronger, his attempt to have a connection that he can lead with confidence, be as strong as he believes himself to be, but his mouth utters not a single word of it.

 

Saying this out loud, any of it, will mean that Tom will have to admit it to himself as well.

 

And it can’t be, he…. likes her.

 

“She’s a good match for you, I understand that.”

 

Tom stares at him, lips parted, but no reply comes to him, for what Chris says is true. Tiffany can be a great spouse. Why should Tom abstain from having a regular relationship?

 

Chris brings his palm to his face and rubs his eyes, then looks at Tom tiredly, face still blank of emotion.

 

He is far more than just beautiful, Tom thinks, and dares his fingers to caress Chris’s chest.

 

_I can’t lose him. I can’t._

 

He leans his face to Chris’s, intending to kiss him and leave that topic behind, but Chris stops him midway, lifting his arm from his belly to hold onto Tom’s shoulder, preventing him from coming closer.

 

“Do you like her?” he asks, eyes hooded and face closed.

 

Tom only shakes his head silently, his face flushed in heat.

 

He does, he does like her, but what Tom feels when he’s with her is but an ounce of water compared to the ocean of sensations his body flows with while being with this man.

 

“She is a woman I am dating,” Tom says and dips forward to try and kiss him again, but Chris only tightens his hold on his shoulder, blocking him, and Tom grunts in frustration.

 

“Don’t push me away Chris, come on,” He says, and it burns inside him, this chill between them, the thought of losing him-,

 

“Kiss me. Just-, kiss me.”

 

Chris stares at him, long and hard, his chest rising and falling heavily, heart a constant beat beneath Tom’s palm.

 

“She’s got some balls, doesn’t she,” Chris says, voice low and steady, then pulls the arm from beneath his head and places it heavily onto Tom’s lower back, immediately changing the air between them.

 

 _Yes, she does,_ Tom thinks, but says nothing, and instead takes his chance to incline his head forward again in another attempt to catch Chris’s mouth.

 

“Asking me about you, twice,” Chris speaks against Tom’s lips in a dry kiss, then uses both of his arms to flips them around, placing Tom with his back to the bed with Chris on top of him, covering him with his weight.

 

“Uh,” Tom whimpers in surprise, little shocked with the sudden change in attitude, but he embraces it without a second thought.

 

Chris is watching him with a fixed expression, waiting for Tom's response for the rough handling, but Tom simply lifts his pelvis to grind it against Chris’s body, letting the heat that pools in his groin drive him forward.

 

Chris hums in response, then wordlessly shoves around with his body, sliding a knee between Tom’s legs and leans close to Tom’s face.

 

“I will stop if you ask me to,” he whispers quickly, fumbling down with his hands to remove his briefs, then tugs Tom’s boxers down, to which Tom complies quietly and lifts his hips off the bed, drunk with the sudden enveloping attention.

 

The man is obviously jealous, just like he was during their first night together, and over the very same woman. This jealousy is what drove Chris to kiss him in the first place, to hold onto his wrists with strength.

 

Looking over Tom’s naked body, Chris leans over to lie on top of him again, then pushes Tom’s legs apart with his thighs and settles himself between them. He braces himself on his elbows, placed on each side of Tom’s head, then kisses him, hard and deep.

 

His lips are warm, his mouth is still fresh with liquid, and Tom lets himself be kissed. Chris’s tongue pushes its way in, finds its partner and plunders his mouth.

 

It’s a wanting, dominating kiss - but it doesn’t last long. None of Chris’s kisses do, Tom muses distantly.

 

Chris angles himself so that their cocks are aligned together, and they slowly start grinding against each other, Chris gaining a moderate, steady pace on top of Tom.

 

“I am willing to bet that she’s sharply intelligent, her mouth as quick as yours with words,” Chris says, his tone somewhat intimidating, and upon hearing the words, despite knowing better, Tom is thrilled.

 

_He is jealous over me. He wants this._

 

Chris halts his movements suddenly then draws himself back a little, looking at Tom’s chest then his face.

 

“Turn around onto your belly,” he says and Tom chuckles breathlessly, thinking that he is about to be taken rather roughly, and decides that he would like to be on his back while Chris will have him so, so he will be able to watch him, to pull him close for a kiss.

 

“No.”

 

Chris pauses, momentarily confused.

 

“No?”

 

Tom brings his hands to hold onto Chris’s forearms and smiles at him. He means it to be one of his wicked grins, but it comes out small and affectionate.

 

“Like this. I want to see you.”

 

Chris blinks at him, clearly unprepared for Tom’s refusal. He appears unsettled for a moment, but eventually he nods in approval.

 

“I-, ok. Alright”

 

He uses the opportunity to grab the pack of condoms and oil, straightens up and prepares himself. He keeps his eyes away from Tom’s, letting his gaze settle on various spots in the room, but lets Tom watch him.

 

Tom has never actually seen Chris completely naked before, not as vividly as now, and Chris is just as beautiful, completely exposed like this, healthy and flushed with heat in all the right places. Women are gorgeous, there is no doubt about that, but Chris fits so well, so nicely here in bed with him, more than Tom would have ever thought possible.

 

Tom runs his eyes over the man’s torso, down to his waist and then to his groin, seeing Chris’s palms adjusting the condom on himself, then slicking his hard length with more oil, and Tom’s breath hitches until he averts his gaze down to his own stomach.

 

Chris is simply proportionally large in accordance with the rest of his body, but Tom is still nervous about this, damning Chris and himself for being so coy about this.

 

Chris places the oil vial on the bed and looks over Tom, getting his eyes full of his naked body. He reaches to Tom’s thighs and runs his hands over them back and forth, massaging his flesh, then pulls them upwards and presses them to his waist.

 

“Keep them here,” Chris says, then untangles an arm free from one of Tom’s legs and leans over towards him, braces it next to his head and shifts his hips forward, pressing his cock to Tom’s arse.

 

“Ah,-” Tom groans, his voice joined by Chris’s grunt, who unhooks his other arm and unceremoniously reaches between them to probe against Tom’s entrance with his finger.

 

He manages to push his finger inside, and Tom bites his tongue, seeking comfort in a kiss, but Chris parts their mouths after but a mere moment and presses his lips to Tom’s jaw.

 

“She’s all confidence, is she,” he says, thoroughly working his wrist, not waiting long before penetrating Tom with another finger.

 

Chris is efficient, working his arm back and forth only a few times, then pulls them out and immediately takes hold of his erection and angles himself against Tom’s entrance.

 

“Damn it, Chris,” Tom mumbles, bracing himself, then Chris pushes his hips forward, slow but steady, and forces his way in with a single stroke.

 

Tom throws his head back at the spearing intrusion, barely stifling a cry, and Chris is immediately close to him again, mouthing his neck.

 

“Relax, it’s ok.”

 

Chris reaches behind them to grip one of Tom’s thighs then thrusts inside once, hard and deep.

 

“Ah, Chris-”, Tom whimpers and Chris captures his mouth with a hard kiss, as if catching him from falling.

 

“Hold yourself onto me with your legs,” he murmurs, and Tom nods wordlessly, pressing his lips to the wrist next to his head and tightens his legs around Chris’s waist while balancing himself against the bed.

 

Chris hums low in his throat and comes to hover his teeth over Tom’s shoulder, starting to work his hips in persistent rolls and shifts, charging in and out of Tom’s flesh.

 

Chris is taking him, Tom thinks, for the second time tonight, ruthless and raw, and who knew this could hurt and feel good at the same time.

 

The man invests a few more thrusts, then rises to position himself on his knees, hooks Tom’s legs onto his arms again and resumes moving his hips in rapid, short thrusts into Tom’s body.

 

The man’s face is flushed, his cheeks are bright red, and his eyes are hooded with energy and lust.

 

“That girl,-” A sharp, single  thrust, “She’s pretty. I’ll give you that.”, Chris tells him, his chest taut with strain.

 

He glances at Tom’s groin and licks his lips. This time, when he talks, Chris’s voice is pleading, almost desperate.

 

“Would you touch yourself?”

 

Tom laughs nervously between the sharp thrusts, but Chris shakes his head and gestures at his crotch, encouraging.

 

“Come on, do it.”

 

Tom’s body agrees to the pledge before his mind does, and his palm reaches downwards out of its own violation, causing Tom’s face to warm and his eyes to fall shut as his fingers wrap around his hard cock.

 

There are no more words after this, as Tom strokes himself and Chris continues to devour him, their heaves and moans filling the air.

 

Tom’s palm moves at will, taking him further and further while he is being filled, pressed down by a crude, sweet weight, and Tom opens his eyes, seeing Chris looking at his stroking hand, hips thrusting earnestly.

 

“Chris, come a little closer,” he says, voice as steady as possible. He is so close.

 

Chris lifts his head upon hearing his request, breathless and glistening with sweat, then bends close anyway, bracing himself on his elbows.

 

“What is it,” he asks, almost angrily, and Tom runs his free hand through Chris’s hair and pulls him close to his face by his neck.

 

“Kiss me.”

 

With a low moan, Chris does, his kiss wet and erratic as his hips continue to pound into Tom.

 

“Come on”, Chris pants into his mouth,  “Let me see you come, you feel so good, so pretty,” and Tom’s cock is tight with need, his body is ready to shoot, and Chris can have whatever he wants-

 

“I’m, --coming,” he whimpers against Chris’s cheek, and his seed bursts into his palm,

his whole body shuddering with his climax.

 

Chris eases his pace and kisses him gently throughout his orgasm, swallowing Tom’s groans with low moans of his own, then kisses his temple once his body settles down.

 

“That was so nice, you are...” he whispers, finishing his sentence with muffled grunt, not meeting Tom’s eyes.

 

Chris bends down to kiss Tom’s breast, just above his nipple, then pushes himself backwards, again balancing on his knees and slowly returns to grind his lips rhythmically into Tom’s pelvis.

 

“She’s probably told you everything, tells you whatever she wills,” he says, his body glistening with sweat, his face losing their gentleness in favor of something more vigorous.

 

Tom reaches his palm to Chris’s face, wanting to soothe him, but Chris shakes it away and buries his body between Tom’s legs again, using his strength and weight to thrust ruthlessly into Tom, his expression distant.

 

There are no more sweet words, no more compliments, Chris is wordless and strained with effort, and with nothing to say, Tom watches him, quietly gasping along with his thrusts.

 

Chris drops one of his legs and leans forward to grab onto Tom’s shoulder, shoves his cock hard into him once, twice - and then he is coming, cock pulsing, completely silent, his fingers pressing into Tom’s skin.

 

 _She pales next to you_ , he wants to tell him, but Tom’s mouth is tightly shut. He can’t, he can’t say it.

 

Chris gives out a few more thrusts, those last ones with the air of possessiveness to them,  and drops his chin to his chest, seemingly exhausted.

 

Upon seeing this, Tom raises himself as far as he can and holds onto Chris’s upper arms, pulling him back onto the bed with him.

 

Chris grunts and lets Tom haul him close so they are face to face, his body rigid but yielding.

 

Chris slowly slips out of him, and Tom fleetingly wonders what will it be like to do this without that latex on, flesh to flesh.

 

He trails his fingers along Chris’s face, pushes his his heavy locks of hair behind his ears and tries to press their mouths together, but Chris pulls away from him, instead resting his forehead on Tom’s shoulder and remains there, silent.

 

His chest tightens at the rejection, and Tom pulls at his stuffy nose, rests his palm on Chris’s shoulder blade and closes his eyes.

 

No more words are exchanged, and after a few moments when Chris’s breathing evens into a steady rhythm, the burn of the rejection leaves Tom, replaced by the pleasure of holding Chris’s sleeping form, his fingers traveling over the man’s broad back.

 

Times passes and Tom looks at the night sky through the window, not puzzling about his spontaneous mental confessions about Tiffany, nor about that preposterous notion of letting Chris have whatever he wants. What he does wonder about is what it might feel like waking up next to this man in the morning, greeting him, and perhaps even sharing a small breakfast with him.

 

Tom’s mind comes up with no answers, and Chris’s long sought warmth embraces him, his soft hair sliding through his fingers, making Tom smile like a fool.

 

A rush of cool air enters through the window, reaches the bed, and Chris shivers on top of him.

 

Tom chuckles lightly, then shifts Chris over to carefully pull the blankets to cover them both, placing a small kiss on Chris’s cheek.

 

“Such a delicate prince.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my love, my darling,  
> I've hungered, hungered for your touch, a long, lonely time.
> 
> Time goes by so slowly  
> And time can do so much  
> Are you still mine?
> 
>  
> 
> [ Elvis Presley - My love (Unchained Melody)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0kXTnR337E)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On bended knee is no way to be free  
> Lifting up an empty cup, I ask silently  
> That all my destinations will accept the one that's me  
> So I can breathe.
> 
> Don't come closer or I'll have to go  
> Owning me like gravity are places that pull.
> 
> If ever there was someone to keep me at home - It would be you.
> 
>  
> 
> [Eddie Vedder - Guaranteed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtZ1TK1Sfpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter -  
> This chapter, like the previous two chapters, contains intense emotions, conversation and thoughts, both conscious and unconscious.
> 
> There is a mild usage of physical force in this chapter, but no violence occurs and nobody gets harmed. 
> 
> The next post may require more time than usual, as the story now moves into its second part, and I wish to prepare some infrastructure before we enter phase two.
> 
> You should know that your comments, kudos, and the very fact that you are reading this story to begin with, touch me deeply. I am, hand over heart, humbled by your positive reactions.
> 
> Thank you. You bring me unique, genuine delight :)
> 
> May you enjoy this chapter :)

The walls are white and empty, daylight is spilling through a wide, single window, and there is a large blackboard on the wall in front of him.

 

Chris is sitting in a classroom.

 

His hand is holding a pencil, and on his desk a few pages are laid.

 

He is taking a test.

 

When he looks over the pages, it appears that he’s already answered a few of the questions, but this next one… There is an answer for it in the back of his mind, he’s sure of it, but his hand won’t move the pencil to write it down.

 

But how can this be? He’s learned well before the test, worked hard for this.

 

Why can’t he answer the question?

 

He looks up to the large clock on the wall and sees its compasses ticking. He is not left with much time. Soon he will need to hand in his papers.

 

 _Write down something, anything_ , he mentally urges the pencil in his hand, but it is frozen in place.

 

Suddenly, a movement is caught in the corner of his eye, and Chris glances to his right.

 

There is another person sitting in the desk next to him, his face obscured as he’s closely hunched over his own test papers. The person looks familiar, appears to be physically smaller in size than him, but Chris cannot recognize that man.

 

He’s smart, this person. Chris can see him effortlessly scribbling down all of the answers into his papers, no hesitations or doubts, no pauses for air.

 

Chris envies him.

 

And he knows this person. He has a name, he’s certain of it.

 

There’s a slight clicking noise coming from the door and when Chris turns to look - his breath is knocked out of his chest.

 

It’s Elsa. She’s standing at the door, looking at him, worried and impatient.

 

“Do you know the answer?” she asks him and Chris looks helplessly at her.

 

“I… I’m not sure…” He whispers, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. The classroom is so very quiet and even the slightest noise bounces back from the walls like a roar.

 

Elsa shakes her head, asking him again, her tone urgent - “Chris, you’ve worked so hard, how can you not know this?”

 

 _I haven’t taken a test in years_ , Chris thinks and looks back at the papers, bringing his pencil close to the paper again, but then there’s movement next to him which catches his attention.

 

When he turns to look, the person next to him rises to his feet and… it is not a he, but a she. Chris looks closer, and he recognizes her small, thin figure, her brown hair. This is… This is Tom’s… It’s Tiffany.

 

She walks past Chris, not acknowledging him on her way to the class’s supervisor and elegantly hands her papers to the figure, her face wearing an easy smile.

 

She’s finished the test. She got all the answers right, each and every one of them.

 

“Time’s up,” the supervisor calls, and Chris looks down again at the documents, seeing his page blank of answers.

 

He is an absolute imbecile next to her.

 

When he glances back to the classroom’s door, he sees Elsa is still standing there, waiting for him to finish and come over, her expression unreadable.

 

Chris closes his eyes, his fingers unclenching, and his only pencil falls to the floor.

 

_I wish I knew this._

 

 

\--------

 

 

Chris opens his eyes with a shudder, gasping for air.

 

Alarm takes over his senses when he doesn’t recognize his surroundings, but when he turns his head he sees Tom, sleeping on his side, facing him with his forehead almost touching Chris’s shoulder, and he remembers.

 

Releasing his bated breath, Chris drops his head back to the pillow.

 

Calming his breath, Chris brings his arm to wipe his damp forehead, sensing the sheets clinging to his sweat-clammy body as he wriggles to free his arm from beneath the warm covers.

 

He is rubbing his wrist into his eyes, trying to recall when exactly did he fall asleep, when a rustle of sheets is heard next to him.

 

“Chris?” Tom mutters, his voice dusty from sleep.

 

“Yes,” he replies mildly, trying to sound as casual as possible as the disquiet from his dream is still gripping his body.

 

“Is everything alright?” Tom asks him, rising to balance himself on his elbow, squinting at him through the dark.

 

“Yea, sure,” Chris says, licking his chapped lips.

 

He is barely able to catch Tom’s movements in the dark, and when he does, it’s already too late.

 

Tom reaches to touch his chest, runs his fingers over Chris’s skin, and pauses.

 

“You are covered in sweat,” Tom comments, his confused wrinkled forehead visible in the dark, and Chris grinds his teeth, immediately embarrassed.

 

He did not want Tom to see him like this, sweaty and unsettled in the aftermath of one of his dreams.

 

“Yea, It got a little too warm under the covers.”

 

Tom rubs his face, inspecting Chris’s face and his bare torso once his eyes adjust to the dark.

 

“Were you dreaming?” Tom asks quietly, and Chris muffles a grunt into the palm massaging his jaw, thinking that this, too, won’t stand a chance in slipping beneath Tom’s pointed observance.

 

"I believe so," he replies, hoping Tom will drop the subject. How can Chris explain this to him?

 

"And it woke you up," Tom says, watching him with his usual curiosity, and Chris breaths deeply, sensing reserved about discussing this topic.

 

“Yes. It happens sometimes, but nothing is wrong.”

 

Tom runs his eyes over him one more time as if gauging his words, and Chris prepares himself for another question, but Tom only nods and inches closer, bringing his arm to tug at the blanket which is covering Chris’s body.

 

“Should I remove this blanket then?”

 

Chris slowly relaxes and smiles at him.

 

“No need, I’m fine.”

 

“Alright,” Tom says and lies back down on the bed with a small yawn, reaching his back with his arm to scratch his shoulder blade.

 

Tom is wearing that disheveled appearance again, that tousle in his hair and slight flush to his face, evidence to their prior conduct. He looks so dashing after sex, and Chris wonders if it will be the right thing to tell him so or will Tom consider his words to be an insult.

 

The words come so much more easily to him while they in the heat of the moment, and during moments such as this, as they are sharing such an intimate action such as sleeping next to each other, Chris feels out of his depth, his compliments for Tom lost on him.

 

Stretching his back, he reaches to the cupboard for Tom’s cell phone and frowns when he sees how late it is.

 

When he first came up with the idea of paying Tom a visit, Chris had thought that perhaps a kiss might take place after reconciling with the man, if at all, and then he would simply have headed home.

 

But Tom was fierce and defiant, shooting demanding questions and phrases at him without breaking a sweat, and Chris ended up standing by the door, rendered speechless like a startled child.

 

Chris was provoked again, his true intentions ungraciously exposed.

 

He could have left, but he had wanted more than just a conversation, more than just restoring the positive air between him and Tom.

 

He had wanted the man, and Chris’s stomach, filled to the brim with restricted desires and thoughts, was searching for release.

 

And now, as the night is nearing the end of its peak, Chris is lying next to Tom in his bed. His body is naked under the covers, and his eyes are wandering over the Tom’s exposed shoulder.

 

_He is lovely._

 

Chris places the device back on the cupboard and turns back to face Tom. He brings his hand to place it on the man’s neck, letting it travel down to his arm.

 

He has missed him before, and Chris is frightened to think just how much he will wish for Tom after he leaves the apartment tonight.

 

"I better go soon," he says, his palm resting over Tom's.

 

The room is only illuminated by the street's light coming from the window, and when Tom does not respond, Chris assumes he has fallen asleep again.

 

"Tom," He calls softly, squeezing his fingers onto Tom's palm.

 

"How come you've managed to stay here until such a late hour tonight?" Tom asks him after a moment, his form strangely still.

 

Tom's tone is informal, yet Chris tenses at the question. Tom usually favors being bluntly inquisitive with him, cornering Chris into speaking out loud his personal doings and thoughts, and Chris feels both charmed and intimidated by this tendency at the same time.

 

“Elsa’s sister is in town, so they both took to spend the night in a nice hotel with the kids. That’s pretty much it.”

 

Tom remains motionless for a while, then he turns to lie on his back, arms folded behind his back, eyes staring straight the ceiling.

 

Something is wrong, Chris thinks and senses wariness forming in his stomach.

 

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks tentatively.

 

Tom pulls his nose then coughs, that strange dry cough Chris has been hearing from him of late and he wonders again what might the cause for it.

 

“No, you did not,” Tom replies, pulling himself into a sitting position then shifts around to place his feet on the floor, turning his back to Chris. He pulls his boxers and sweat pants on then stands up, fishes for his t-shirt and wears it on as well.

 

Confused, Chris pushes himself up to his elbows, watching Tom as he dresses.

 

“I’m a little thirsty. I’ll be in the kitchen,” Tom says, then clears his throat.

 

“You’ll want to take a shower before you leave, I think,” he adds quietly.

 

Chris stares at the emptied half of the bed, then at Tom’s figure as he exits the room.

 

What did just happen?

 

Shaking himself out of his shock, Chris quickly sits up from the bed, fumbles for his boxers and t-shirt, and after a short pause pulls over his jeans as well, sensing uneasy with walking around Tom’s apartment bearing his undergarments only.

 

He exits the room and walks slowly down the hall, nervously running his fingers over his stubble, then down his throat.

 

He feels so far away from what he knows, stepping into a completely uncharted territory for the first time in a very long while in his adult life.

 

Was he supposed not to tell Tom about Elsa taking their family out? Was Tom disturbed by the sight of Chris woken up by his dream in the middle of the night, body clammy and expression distraught?

 

Handling arguments with his wife was familiar to Chris, but this? Tension over the bed sheets with a man? Where does he even begin?

 

When he reaches the kitchen’s entrance, he sees Tom leaning back over the marble, a small cup of water in his hands, eyes staring blankly into space.

 

Bracing himself, Chris cautiously steps into the kitchen and comes to stand nearby the refrigerator, mindful of not to standing too close to Tom.

 

 _I do not know how to do this_ , Chris thinks, and he takes a deep breath, sensing his cheeks warm.

 

“Why did you leave the bedroom like this?”

 

A slight frown appears on Tom’s face and he empties the cup in a single sip, placing it on the marble without looking at Chris.

 

“I don’t think we should have this conversation right now Chris,” he says, then- “If ever, actually.”

 

Affronted, Chris joins Tom with a frown of his own.

 

“What do you mean? Why not?”

 

Tom looks down at the floor and folds his arms over his chest.

 

“I mean that you should go back home,” he pauses, “to your family.”

 

Chris listens carefully to Tom’s unpleasant words, and yet again, he does not comprehend.

 

“If you want me to leave, then I will,” he replies, to which Tom responds with a snort.

 

“But before I go,” he adds slowly, “Tell me what is wrong, please.”

 

Tom lifts one arm to massage the back of his neck and Chris can see his throat working as he swallows.

 

“Trust me with this one, Chris,” he mutters with a thin smile, then pushes himself from the marble to stand up in front of Chris.

 

“You said you should go - then go.”

 

Tom is nearly as tall as him, his stance straight and upright, and his face is offering a tense, fake smile, almost like a challenge.

 

“While you are in the shower, I’m going to make sure my suitcase is in order,” Tom says, then gestures at the refrigerator with his hand.

 

“There’s food in the fridge if you are hungry, and I’ll be in the living room,” he adds curtly, then turns to head out of the kitchen, coming to walk past Chris.

 

There is something about Tom, about his cleverness combined with his natural physical strength as a man that repeatedly provokes Chris into action.

 

As Tom passes next to him, Chris moves to hold onto his forearm, stopping Tom from moving any further. His grip is gentle, but firm.

 

“Once again, I do not understand you. I have no idea why you are acting like this. We were lying in your bed not but five minutes ago. What happened?” Chris asks, tightening his fingers onto Tom’s flesh.

 

Tom looks at his arm being held, and Chris releases him when he wriggles out of his grip, letting Tom takes one step back, his face severe.

 

"As you wish."

 

He takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and cocks his head at Chris, as if taunting him.

 

"I despise it when you leave in the middle of the night Chris, I do."

 

Chris blinks at him, his body going rigid at the accusing tone.

 

"We- we spend hours in there," he says, voice growing urgent, pointing at the general direction of the bedroom, "and when we're done, you announce oh so casually that you need to go. Just like that."

 

Tom pulls at his nose, chest visibly rising and falling back, his finger still raised, pointing.

 

"And after I close the door behind you, in the middle of the bloody night, I feel like the air has been knocked out of my chest, like a damn, greasy horse who’s just finished a race and for some reason gets his arse kicked-,”

 

Tom pauses, pulls at his nose again, then coughs a few times, almost making Chris wince at the throaty sound.

 

“And I just stand there, gazing at that foul door, listening to you climb down the stairs and start your car’s engine as you drive away, and I have no idea of what just happened."

 

Chris can only gaze at him, his mind barely containing the harsh words, and he takes a deep, unsteady breath.

 

He feels helpless again, as if shame and guilt are standing right behind his back as two people, laughing at him, mocking him. When did this happen? How could he have missed this?

 

“We have barely spoken in weeks, my dear colleague Chris, _weeks_ , and yet here we are again, spent and reeking of each other’s scent, and I am-”

 

Tom halts with a tight sniffle, breathing heavily while working his jaw, and his eyes… Chris shakes his head, at a complete loss of what he should do.

 

Tom wipes his palm over his eyes, his nose, then glances at the moisture over hand and frowns.

 

“Son of a bitch,” he sputters with a low voice and steps towards the sink to wash his hand.

 

Chris watches Tom as he rinses his face, his body aching to do something, anything.

 

“I-, I didn’t know Tom.”

 

Tom does not respond, wiping his face dry with kitchen cloth, then his hands. Chris takes a single step forward, then another, until he is close enough to place his arm on Tom’s back, who grows rigid under his touch.

 

“Perhaps if we had talked about this-”

 

“Talked about what, exactly?” Tom cuts into his words, making Chris drop his arm.

 

“You have obligations at home Chris, wife, kids,” he fires at him, his eyes glassy.

 

“You come here, we do some small talk, we go at it, and then you are off. It is what it is.”

 

Chris just barely swallows down the scathing remarks, running his hand through his hair, frustration weighing down his body.

 

What can he possibly say to this?

 

Tom watches him and sighs, shaking his head.

 

“I told you, this conversation is useless, a waste of time and energy.”

 

The words hang in the air, and Chris cannot accept them as the last notch.

 

“Despite what you may think, I did not come here just to sleep with you,” he counters.

 

Tom places the kitchen cloth on the table and turns around to lean his lower back on the marble again.

 

“I appreciate the gesture, Hemsworth” Tom drawls, and the use of his last name is such a contrast to the intimacy they had just shared in the parallel bedroom, it bites Chris in his throat.

 

_I hurt him. He said I took his dignity from him._

 

“I respect you just as much as I did before we’d shared a bed,” Chris tries once more, meaning every word.

 

He wants to treat Tom better, to be able to know how to say the right words which will melt the ice between them. He wants to stop being herded by his doubts and fears.

 

Tom casts his eyes downwards, his expression suddenly darkening.

 

“You move me, Chris. How noble of you," he says coolly, and Chris immediately realizes he is not on the right track.

 

 _I insulted him, and his girlfriend would have never treated him like this_ , Chris thinks, and he is sharply reminded of his dream, how Tiffany had all the answers when all he had managed to do was stutter.

 

She is as smart just as Tom is, clever enough to pursue him with her charms, wit, and body, attracting him to her like a true lady.

 

Chris envies her.

 

"What can I do Tom, tell me."

 

At that, Tom laughs, if out right bitterly.

 

"Call me when you wear your mother's skirts and makeup, tell me all about it. How can I answer such a question?"

 

It is naught but another scathing jibe, but Chris replays it again in his mind, considering. Tom usually throws jagged arrows which hold some meaning at him, not some pointless soft balls.

 

"Would you like that then?" He asks gently, attempting to break through the tension, and Tom tilts his head upwards, looking at Chris from the corner of his eye.

 

"What are you talking about?" He asks warily, and Chris notes a hint of interest in his tone.

 

"Would you like me to call you more? I'm a poor partner for phone calls, but it would be better than cool silence. What do you think?"

 

Tom’s eyebrow are raised with doubt, his lips are pursed, but he is watching Chris openly by now, his posture upright again.

 

“Such a strange offer,” Tom mutters, shaking his head, yet there is a ghost of a smile over his lips, and Chris carefully smiles back at the man, inching a little closer to him.

 

_He is interested. He is considering my offer._

 

“We’ll see how it goes,” Tom says vaguely, and Chris nods quietly at him, his instincts compelling him to do more.

 

Tom stands up from the marble again, hands in his pockets, and Chris pulls himself to a stand together with him, his heart beating heavily within his ribs.

 

He wants to court Tom, to approach, even pursue him just as he would have done with any other woman he would have felt drawn to.

 

Chris steps forward, coming to stand in front of Tom, tentatively reaching his arm to hold onto his waist.

 

Tom does not resist his touch and stands still, flicking his eyes over Chris’s then down to his chest.

 

“I am sorry I did not see this before, that I was not aware of this,” Chris says, bringing his other arm to hold onto Tom’s waist as well.

 

“And now you know,” Tom says blandly, eyes empty, and Chris cannot bare to feel so helpless anymore. Needing him to listen, Chris pulls Tom closer to him, making him grunt in response.

 

“Relax Chris, I get this, alright? I get everything, you asked me and I answered-” Tom says dryly, and Chris shakes his head, not letting him finish.

 

He will not see Tom hurt like this again, not because of him.

 

“No, no, I’ve never meant to hurt you, Tom, to pack my things and go right after we are done, this is not just casual sex to me, I-”

 

He loathes lying to his wife, he despises it, his lies are attacking him in his dreams, stealing his breath and wrecking his sleep, but this at least is true, and Tom has to hear it, Chris can’t stomach it any longer.

 

Tom is looking at him, his shoulders tense, his lips sewn into a thin line, and Chris steps closer to him, wanting to kiss him.

 

He cups the back of Tom’s neck and kisses him gently, his eyes slipping away to a distant point in the room, he can’t look into Tom’s eyes as he speaks this-

 

“You mean a lot to me, I like you so much, I think you are beautiful,” Chris mutters whichever words are pulled from his overloaded belly, his heart shivering in fear - he had thought he would never say these words after so many years.

 

Tom releases a strained sound, his lips pry open, and Chris uses the opportunity to catch his mouth and escape into another kiss, wanting to hide, his face hot with embarrassment. Will his words be welcomed?

 

Tom's mouth is sweet and warm, his body is solid, definitely capable of fighting back, but is cupped so nicely into Chris’s grip, and a dark, unrefined thought resounds in his mind. It is not foreign to him, but it was not so clear before as it is now.

 

_I will have him._

 

He comes to hold onto Tom's arms, pulling them upward to wrap them around his neck, then lowers his hands down, placing them both on Tom’s lower back. Holding his breath, Chris pulls Tom closer, pressing their hips together, and exhales through his teeth.

 

He wants to lie with him again, perhaps even take Tom once more if he allows him to, but the tension is still present between them, and he is utterly exhausted. He won't make it.

 

Resolved, Chris kisses Tom’s cheek and lifts one of his hands to rake his fingers through Tom’s soft hair. Chris loves his curls, they suit Tom perfectly.

 

Tom leans into his touch, eyes half open, then tightens his arms around Chris's neck, pulling them both into an embrace.

 

With his chest gradually rising and falling, Tom lowers face onto Chris's shoulder, his warm breath soaking through Chris’s shirt cloth.

 

Left with no more words to say yet wishing to give more of himself, Chris holds him.

 

He sees the night sky through the window, and his mind wanders away. He remembers his and Tom's friendly chat in the living room, remembers himself surrendering to his body's request as he walked to Tom's bedroom, remembers Tom's moans as he moved inside him, and eventually - his own dream.

 

"Stay a little longer next time, please," Tom murmurs against his neck, and Chris pulls the man flush against him as a response.

 

_Next time. There will be a next time._

 

Chris feels doubtful, his old habits slithering around his spine again, whispering that he should run, run fast to somewhere else, somewhere more familiar than this-

 

 _Say yes_ , his heart argues.

 

“Yes, ok, I will, I will do my best”, Chris replies as a kiss is placed on his neck then another one below his ear, soothing his body from wanting to bolt.

 

For running away from this, is nothing but an illusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh baby, sweet darling, I knew all the rules, but the rules did not know me,  
> Guaranteed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been biding my time  
> Been so subtly kind  
> I've got to think so selfishly  
> 'Cos you're the face inside of me
> 
> I've been biding my days,  
> You see - evidently it pays.  
> I've been a friend with unbiased views  
> Then secretly lust after you.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Skunk Anansie - Secretly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7M8UxZDk56o)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> A few quick reminders - 
> 
> Tom is off to a 10 days business trip in the UK - taking part in a certain film festival in London. After the festival, he is to pay a small visit to his parents' house.
> 
> This visit is NOT the same one as the other professional trip which was mentioned in earlier chapters, the one which is related to his big professional opportunity in a new series called 'Miles from home'. 
> 
> This professional opportunity shall be discussed in more detail in later chapters, towards the end of the story.
> 
> Warning for this chapter - *Explicit* non-platonic dynamics between one of our two heroes and another character.
> 
> I do hope the warning shall not deter you from reading this chapter, as everything the characters choose to do contributes to their development along the story.
> 
> I also hold my hopes that you shall see the true meaning of these dynamics with other characters between the lines. 
> 
>  
> 
> May you take pleasure from reading this chapter :)

His body feels heavier than usual, his throat is dry and his nose is a little stuffy.

 

Warmth is certainly present under the covers, but the other side of the bed is empty, Tom knows this even while he sleeps.

 

 

\----------

 

 

Tom opens his eyes.

 

The morning sunbeams are penetrating through the window straight onto the bed and he shies away from them, awake but unwilling to unwrap himself from the blankets.

 

When he reluctantly searches for his cell phone to check for the time, Tom frowns with annoyance. He beat his alarm clock in more than twenty minutes, and he will not manage to fall asleep again until the alarm actually goes off. Not even a light doze will occur, Tom feels it in his bones.

 

He spits a few curses into the air when he feels some burning throb shoot from his rear as he rinses himself in the shower, but insists on letting the water boil to the highest temperature he can bare anyway.

 

He takes his reflection in the mirror afterwards, and this time, after a second night with Chris, he is a little less surprised to feel so essentially different from yesterday.

 

He looks decent enough, though. Respectable. His nose is somewhat reddened, but physically, he appears perfectly normal.

 

No one will notice anything different about him besides himself. Not even Chris.

 

His coffee tastes just as it does every other day, yet the morning senses more quiet than usual to him and Tom stares out the window, trying to warm his fingers around his steaming cup.

 

He rechecks his suitcase for the third time, never feeling confident enough that he hasn't forgotten anything important. When he’s done with his meticulous checks, Tom places his suitcase just nearby the door, next to his coat and scarf.

 

He dresses in his living room today, uncomfortable with dressing in his bedroom as he usually does. He ties his shoelaces and distantly ponders at the oddly quiet morning as the deep noises of the refrigerator buzz and furniture creeks reach his ears.

 

Tom stands up, fixes his coat around his waist and the scarf around his neck and picks up his large travelling suitcase. He opens the door and eyes his apartment for the last time before he leaves.

 

How quaint all of this is, he thinks with some tired resentment. How unexpected yet predictable.

 

This apartment shall always, with no foreseeable exceptions, feel empty and cold after Chris steps out of its door.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

The airport is not very busy and no one recognizes him as he walks through, wearing his cap and sunglasses with his suitcase trailing behind him. He is not supposed to meet anyone in the airport and for that, he is grateful. Today, Tom wishes to pass the time until he lands in London by himself.

 

He pretends not to be mindful of his cell phone, resisting the urge to pull it out of his pocket since he had left the apartment. His facade drops just before take off, though, as the plane staff requests the passengers to shut down their mobile phones.

 

Quickly, Tom glances at his device, using his last chance to check whether any missed call had accidentally gone by without him noticing it.

 

 _He said he’ll call,_ Tom thinks as he sees no new notifications, swallowing his disappointment with a bite to his tongue.

 

 _I should have just said yes to his offer to call me_ , he thinks, _I should have simply agreed and spare us both my so called arrogant need to consider._

 

“Idiot”, Tom mutters, whether to himself or to that Hemsworth dimwit, he is not sure, and shuts down his mobile.

 

The next few hours he will spend in the air plane shall force him not to check and re-check his cell phone again, and at least for that, Tom is grateful.

 

 

\-------

 

 

All in all, the film festival in London is quite pleasant. Tom makes his appearance, converses with the right people, and of course - gets more than a few chances to be interviewed.

 

He believes himself to be quite good at this, actually.

 

“Tom, are you excited as the shooting phase of the final Thor film is about to be completed?”

 

Tom nods charmingly at the reporter.

 

“Yes, yes, I certainly am,” Tom replies along with some more positive words about the good staff of people who had escorted him and the rest of the actors throughout the entire shooting process.

 

“And what about your future projects? Is it true that you are considering taking a major part in the ‘Miles from home’ series which will be shot in Northern France?”

 

Tom opens his mouth to reply, but for a moment, not a word comes out of his mouth.

 

_In all honesty, I don’t know. How can I leave the United States like this when he is-_

 

Tom clears his throat, mentally shaking himself back into the moment.

 

“Well, the future holds many possibilities, but I’m afraid I can’t really go into more details than that my friend,” he says casually, his best smile winning him a corresponding one from the reporter.

 

Two more reporters follow this line of questioning before the evening exhausts itself, asking him about his future plans, and Tom gives the same vague yet friendly reply on both occasions.

 

He is so experienced with these situations, always quick to come up with a good line to maneuver the conversation out of these unstable waters, but that small stutter, that little hesitation that comes just before he manages to utter the words - It keeps him speechless, if only for a moment, every single time.

 

 

 

\--------------

 

 

 

Chris is true to his word.

 

During the days of the festival, he calls Tom twice, conducting his calls around the local time of ten pm at night while it is late noon back at the US.

 

Tom misses both of his calls as he is taking his shower each time his device rings from Chris, but he calls him right back as soon as he is dressed and under the covers.

 

Chris is true to his word about being a poor partner for phone conversations as well.

 

Their conversations are not strained, yet not incredibly futile either. Tom conjures most of the words they exchange, idly telling Chris about the happenings in the festival and the peculiar scent coming out from the hotel’s bed sheets, the latter a useless tale which earns Tom a short, throaty laugh from the man.

 

During his second call, Chris apologizes once more for the accusations Tom had thrown at him during their pointed exchange they had gone through in Tom’s kitchen, an apology which makes Tom bite his lip at the memory.

 

Yes, Tom wishes Chris to stay longer with him after their encounters in bed, but as Tom had not been able to see any available solution for the matter, he had felt that the discussion, let alone the exposure of his most vulnerable spots, was useless.

 

Tom pushes away the embarrassment of getting teary in front of Chris every time the memory resurfaces. All he knows is that he had vowed to himself not to break down in front of Chris, but that had proved to be nothing but another folly as well.

 

They finish their phone conversation with mild good night pleasantries, and Tom knows he is content with this new attention from the man. Not just content - he is warmed, taken with it, sensing his mind filled with anticipation to see Chris again, be it on the set or under more personal circumstances, it didn’t matter.

 

Tom absently lets his cell phone drop from his fingers somewhere over the bed, folds his arms under his head, eyes staring hard at the ceiling.

 

Chris had said he liked him.

 

There is only relief flooding him at the notion, relief that lets Tom feel as if his body is sinking deeper into the mattresses, as if his body’s warmth overcomes the cool night’s air that touches his bare torso.

 

 _How dangerous this is,_ his mind whispers at him, and Tom nods silently at the foreign, lonely room, fear and happiness making him feel very much alive at the same time.

 

 

 

\---------------------

 

 

 

Tiffany calls him three times while he is in the UK, and he catches all of her calls, even initiating one additional call by himself.

 

It’s definitely easier with her. Tiffany is both an easy talker and intelligent at the same time, and so Tom does not have to think too hard when he speaks with her.

 

Their conversations are easy and lengthy, and they relieve some of the loneliness Tom silently experiences when he catches a taxi back to his hotel room after dark.

 

On her last call to him which takes place just two nights before Tom flies back to the States, Tiffany asks him whether he will be free for dinner on the following day after he returns.

 

Tom hesitates. He wants to say yes immediately, take her offer without a second thought.

 

He wants his life to continue moving on, but that awful stammer hits him once more, causing him to half mumble his words, so very unlike his usual self.

 

‘Yes, yes, of course I would like to see you,’ Tom says after clearing his throat for the third time, and they agree to meet on the following night to his day of return to the States.

 

They end their conversation shortly after they set their meeting, with Tom sensing too tired to talk any further.

 

It takes him two, perhaps three, he cannot remember, shots of strong liquor until he finally falls asleep that night.

 

Whether it is a result of the alcohol or not, he is not sure, but unlike Chris, Tom does not dream at all.

 

 

\---------

 

 

Tom spends the three final days of his trip in his family's house.

 

He is overjoyed to meet his parents, especially his sisters, and as always, he is nothing short of hypnotized by the sight of his childhood's bedroom.

 

As the dinner nears its end and his sisters are about to leave back to their homes, Tom's cell phone vibrates with an incoming call, and his belly instantly suggests who the caller is, making his heart miss a beat.

 

Indeed, his stomach is right on its cue.

 

"Hold on a moment," he mutters into the speaker as he excuses himself out to the apartment's balcony, pulling his jacket tighter around himself once he closes the door behind him.

 

"I'm sorry, I forgot you are with your family tonight," Chris tells him after Tom reminds him of his whereabouts.

 

"Don't worry about it, I needed some air anyway," Tom replies as he watches the night sky.

 

They chat only for a few moments, with plenty of traffic noises from Chris's side as he is driving himself to a certain filming site, but Tom takes pleasure in their awkward conversation nevertheless.

 

 _How would it feel to have him here? What if he occupied the seat next me during dinner with my family, as my date?_ his mind speculates between the sentences, and Tom shakes his head, willing the thought out of his mind with his eyes tightly shut.

 

 _Too far_ , he berates himself, _I am going too far with this. It's impossible._

 

"I'll see you on the set then? The day after tomorrow?" Chris asks him as they are about to finish their little chat, and Tom pulls at his nose.

 

I miss you, he wants to say.

 

"Yeah, I'd like that," he murmurs instead, sweeping the end button with a small sigh shortly afterwards.

 

He is in his own birth country and he loves his home, yet a part of Tom’s mind travels to the bedroom in his rented flat, recalls the noises of the street he's strangely come to be used to.

 

The moon is large and beautiful in the clear skies of the United Kingdom, but somehow, Tom misses being foolishly paid for dinner in a silly pub, by a certain silly, sweet man.

 

 

 

\---------

 

 

 

He lands back in the United States at the morning of a Thursday, and uses the rest of the day to sleep and smooth down his jet lag.

 

By the evening, as was agreed, Tom meets Tiffany for dinner.

 

Their mutual time together is pleasant as it usually is, the lady with him looking great as per usual as well.

 

Just like with every other encounter with Tiffany, Tom is relaxed. He can do whatever his instinct calls him to do, and that instinct is not in a constant battle with his needy ego as it usually is while he is with Chris.

 

He is not sure whether their evening will unfold into an entire night until they leave the restaurant hand in hand with Tom gesturing for a taxi.

 

“How about we head to your place this time?” Tiffany asks him casually once they get into the taxi, and Tom coughs at her question, causing her to give him a confused look.

 

If he agrees, this will be their first chance to spend the night together in his apartment as more than friends.

 

And It will be so strange to share his bed with her, Tom thinks, the very same bed he had shared with Chris.

 

 _It can’t hold me back, though_ , he argues with himself, _this claim, this supposed strangeness, it holds no grounds at all._

 

He should not refuse her. She is his… She is a woman he is dating, a possible spouse, should they ever decide to take matters between them into a more serious level.

 

This issue he is having with Chris… It holds no form. Tom hardly knows whether will they share another encounter, let alone when.

 

_But I want to. I want to see him again._

 

“Just a persistent cold Tiff, nothing serious, but um-” he clears his throat, “Sure, yeah, let’s head to my place,” he says, avoiding direct eye contact with her as he accepts her offer.

 

“Ok, great,” she answers with a smile, her eyes still searching his face, then rests her head on Tom’s shoulder as they driver steers the car back into the road.

 

Tom is quiet during the ride, watching the gentle drops of rain hitting the car’s window as the distance to his apartment shortens by the moment.

 

“Say, did something special happen while you were in the UK?” Tiffany suddenly asks, her voice pulling him out of his reverie.

 

Tom turns his head so his chin brushes her forehead.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’m not sure, you are looking rather… dreamy today, or- giddy perhaps? I can’t really put my finger on it,” she says with a giggle.

 

Tom bites his lip, feeling unexpectedly abashed.

 

Dreamy?

 

He can deny everything, of course, claim that he does not know what Tiffany is talking about, but when he considers her words one more time, a certain sense in him tells him that, in fact, he’s been caught.

 

Tom’s mind has been wandering with circular thoughts ever since he had landed back from his trip.

 

Tomorrow… Tomorrow he will meet Chris on the set, and he is, like a teenaged adolescent, nervous about seeing the man. His guts are telling him that something has changed between them, only Tom does not know what it is.

 

Chris’s calls had felt good to share, but what will it be like when they meet? Will they return to their worthless neutrality? Will they smile at each other more than usual?

 

Will Chris treat him differently from the way he treats everybody else?

 

Will he flirt with Tom when no one else is watching?

 

Tom breaths deeply and rubs his chin against Tiffany’s crown gently.

 

The lady has caught him pining.

 

“Nothing special has happened, not that I know of anyway. I am a little tired, but I am rather enjoying myself. And how can it be any different? You look wonderful tonight.”

 

Tiffany laughs and slaps him lightly on the chest, leaving her palm to rest flat on his breast.

 

“You are sneaky Tom, and don’t you think for a moment that I am not aware of that .”

 

“Well,” Tom says, chuckling, “Sometimes I am sneaky, sometimes I am far too honest for my own good, and it’s difficult to tell the difference.”

 

They fall into a light chatter until the driver drops them off nearby Tom’s apartment, and Tom exits the taxi a moment after Tiffany, watching her hips as he catches up with her.

 

She really does look good, he think. His compliment for her was rather straight forward actually.

 

It’s Chris he’s being sneaky with, not her.

 

For Chris’s looks is very appealing indeed, but Tom’s treacherous little heart is too suspicious, if a bit frightened too, to release Tom’s mouth to tell him so.

 

 

\---------------------

 

 

They climb the stairs together to the apartment and Tom takes Tiffany’s coat from her, then gestures her to sit in the living room while he fetches them a drink.

 

At least Tiffany will have some proper wine and not some tasteless soda, Tom thinks with a snort as he pours them both two cups of red wine.

 

They drink, and the familiar heat surrounds Tom’s body and mind. His muscles loosen, becoming pliant along with the wine and he lets Tiffany kiss him. After seven days abroad with no one but himself, cameras flashing and stressed executives, Tom is thirsty for some human warmth.

 

He nods wordlessly when she asks him to take her to his bed, his hand a little shaky as he leads her to his bedroom.

 

They lie next to each other on his bed, slowly taking each other’s clothes until they are pressed naked together on the bed, hands running on flesh.

 

She kisses him deeply, full of intent, but Tom’s mouth is reluctant, keeping their kisses short-lived and terse, making Tom sigh inwardly.

 

 _He’s not here tonight_ , Tom pleads with his heart to let his body participate, _it’s me and her, and she’s good for me. She will not leave in the middle of the night right after we’re done._

 

As he pleasures her, Tom watches her body, her breasts, her slender but sensual waist, her sex, and her smooth, well-curved legs.

 

How so very different this is, he muses. Her frame is noticeably smaller than his, lying beneath him with scents of perfume and femininity, and he is miles away from feeling physically intimidated in his own bed.

 

He is dominant again, the stronger side of the human equation, and his partner is soft and supple, waiting for him to take her, not the other way around.

 

Tiffany moans his name as she climaxes, kissing him lazily as her body relaxes. “And now you, darling,” she whispers to him and attempts to pull him on top of her.

 

Tom’s loins are warm, the familiar urge is there and he complies, shaking himself from doubt until he comes to lie between her legs.

 

He enters her, his breath short and laboured, avoiding kisses as he rests his lips on her shoulder. He moves slowly within her, his eyes seeing a blur in the semi-darkness of the room, and time seems to flow slower along with him.

 

“You’re so quiet Tom” Tiffany murmurs at him, and Tom opens his eyes to see her looking straight at him, her brown hair sprawled over the pillow and her eyes observing him, waiting for a reply.

 

_If you only knew how jealous he’d been because of you, how he’d looked at me._

 

He cups her breast in his palm and drives his hips into her, quicker and shorter thrusts, chasing his pleasure.

 

Chris’s touch is such a contrast to what he is sharing with Tiffany. Tom is gentle with her, managing their play in a slow pace, and Chris… The man is a bullet waiting to be triggered by fire and be shot.

 

Chris is kind to him, always conscious of not being hurtful, but his touch is not gentle when he takes Tom, his kisses hard but fleeting, his gestures sometimes provoking Tom into a confrontation, sometimes holding him in place.

 

“No, darling, you’re great,” Tom replies quietly, wishing for release - but his mind is insistent on his memories.

 

The recollection of how ruthless Chris had been when he had last slept with him, jealousy turning his thrusts harsh and taking, and then in the kitchen towards the end of their argument, Tom had felt a jolt of heat shooting through his groin yet again as they pressed against each other, Chris had wanted him once more-

 

Tom comes with an abrupt shudder and drowns his moan into Tiffany’s mouth.

 

He breaks the kiss and buries his face into her shoulder, letting the waves of his climax leave his body.

 

“I’ll be right back,” he says a moment later, leaving the bed and heading into the bathroom with a pair of fresh briefs in hand.

 

Tom gets rid of the condom and pays only a brief glance to his reflection in the mirror, which tells him he is rather pale.

 

He slides back into the covers, welcomed by the feminine figure who moves herself to lie right next to him, laying her head on his shoulder.

 

 _She’s staying the night then,_ he thinks, and for a moment, Tom feels like a child who is presented with a plate filled with unfamiliar, suspicious-looking food, unsure of exactly he should do with it.

 

His eyelids, which are heavy with pending sleep, refuse to cover his eyes, and Tom watches the lull of the night enveloping the room as he brings his arm across the lady’s shoulders.

 

Will it make him miss Chris any less if she stays? If he wakes up next to Tiffany and shares a decent breakfast with her in his kitchen?

 

The only certainty that Tom feels is that for a change, his partner shall not leave in the middle of the night after their physical conduct is done.

 

It’s a reassurance he had supposedly yearned for, but even as Tiffany’s body relaxes into a deep slumber next to him, Tom’s eyes remain wide open in the dark, and when exactly he manages to fall asleep that night - he is not sure.

 

 

\------

 

 

There is tug to his shoulder.

 

“Tom, it’s nearly seven in the morning.”

 

Tom opens his eyes, squinting at the bright light coming in from the window. Once adjusted, his sight clears and he sees Tiffany looking down at him with a smile. She is sitting next to him while he is still lying in his bed, looking fresh and smelling of soap and mild, minty toothpaste.

 

“Hmm,” Tom mutters in return and raises his body to a sitting position. Tiffany leans over him and kisses his cheek.

 

“Good morning,” she kisses him once more, lips closed, “Should I make you some coffee?”

 

 

 

\--------

 

 

 

Once Tom is done with his morning ablutions, they drink their coffee together in Tom’s small kitchen table.

 

After spending two nights with Chris, with Tom’s nerves always being defensively ready to endure Chris’s departure, Tom was almost surprised to see Tiffany still present with him when he opened his eyes this morning.

 

“You barely stirred when I left the bed earlier,” Tiffany tells him over her steaming mug.

 

“Perhaps you are the sneaky one then,” Tom replies with a chuckle, yet he senses that his words are only half-playful.

 

She raises her eyebrows at him with a smile, then tells him about her upcoming day, which is, according to her, about to turn out as an office day.

 

In return, Tom tells her that his day will take place within the four walls of the set as well due to scene-supporting special effects required equipment.

 

As this is a shooting day for Tom, he is not expected to see Tiffany anymore today and they both shall part ways after leaving the apartment, each heading their way.

 

They are about to finish their coffee when Tom catches Tiffany leering at him from across the small table.

 

“So. It’s your turn to have your own birthday next weekend.”

 

Tom smiles shyly at her, feeling his cheeks heat with a blush. She makes him feel like a boy around her sometimes.

 

“Indeed.”

 

She smiles widely at him, baring her teeth. It’s both an attractive and intimidating smile at the same time, and Tom is intrigued. She has an idea inside her head and she’s eager to share it with him, he can tell.

 

Tiffany is quite the opposite of Chris, Tom suddenly observes, in almost every possible aspect he can think of.

 

“My assistants and I are organizing a small party, well, more like a gathering actually, to celebrate the completion of the shootings of Thor, so…”

 

She eyes him again, looking all excited and cunning.

 

“I thought that maybe we can combine the two occasions into a single celebration of sorts.”

 

“I see,” Tom says cautiously.

 

“Come on Tom, it can turn out to be a great evening,” she says earnestly, her excitement obvious.

 

“The first part of the evening can be a semi-official press release event with one, two - no more, reporters, in a nice club that I have good connections with, and after the official business is over, I can order some cake for you, ask the DJ to play your favorite music - You know, have a great evening with some friends.”

 

She licks her lips, inhales, and waits for Tom’s response.

 

“Well? What do you think?”

 

Tom chuckles. This woman is canny and smooth, and she is obviously happy with her abilities.

 

Nevertheless, Her offer is quite a good idea which can save him all the hard work and grant him a clean, quick solution for a small birthday party.

 

And it just might turn out to be a fun evening too. Tiffany is excellent in choosing locations and music as well, of that Tom is absolutely certain.

 

“Give me a day to consider this, but I think I just might let you have your way,” Tom answers, nodding at her.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tiffany says, still wearing that smart smile of hers.

 

They finish their drinks shortly afterwards, and Tom retires to his bedroom in order to change into his working clothes.

 

It’s nice, he promises himself as he pulls his jeans on, it’s a good thing that she is here, to share a decent breakfast together.

 

 _It’s the right thing to do_ , the rational part of him whispers, _I like her, and it’s the right thing to do._

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

“So we’ll see each other soon?” Tiffany asks him as she stands nearby the door, ready to head on her way to work.

 

“Yes, we will,” Tom answers with a smile.

 

“Don’t forget to give me a final go about your birthday party,” he hears her calling from the stairs, and quietly, almost to himself, Tom answers that he won’t.

 

He closes the door behind her and turns sideways, looking around the living room.

 

The apartment is quiet again, and Tom breaths deeply, taking comfort in the renewed privacy.

 

 _She pales next to you,_ he had almost told Chris on the night before his flight, when they were lost in the heat of the moment.

 

He remembers well the sensations that run through him after he closes the door behind Chris, how it seems like time runs like sand between his fingers during their encounters, how his body tingles for long hours after Chris’s hands were on him.

 

The difference is so vast, Tom thinks, as he casually sits on his couch, wearing his shoes and tying their laces as he prepares to leave the apartment for work as well.

 

He stands up from his seat, stretches his neck and wears his coat with an annoying sigh.

 

Tom opens the door, hefts his bag over his back and for a moment, he wishes that his feelings for Tiffany were just as strong as his sensations for Chris.

 

As he climbs down the stairs with that thought in mind, that awful cough catches Tom’s throat again.

 

 

\--------------

 

 

The sky is blue and clear today, Tom notes to himself as he gestures for a taxi.

 

A driver stops nearby, and a small smile finds its way onto Tom’s lips as soon as he slides into the backseat of the car.

 

After almost ten days, Tom was going to see Chris again, in less than an hour even, and his belly is prickling with excitement.

 

And the little wish that willed at least some of this excitement about Chris to sound for Tiffany as well must have traveled through his head but never reached his heart, for it is already forgotten.

 

Tom sees no missed calls from Chris in his cell phone when he peeks at the screen, and he bites down a twinge of discontent.

 

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he insists.

 

_I’ve missed him so, very, much._


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby,  
> I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.  
> Oh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah.  
> And now that your rose is in bloom, a light hits the gloom on the grey.  
> There is so much a man can tell you, so much he can say.  
> You remain my power,  
> my pleasure,  
> my pain.
> 
>  
> 
> [Kiss from a Rose - Seal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ateQQc-AgEM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> I am sorry for the somewhat prolonged wait for this chapter. The chapters are becoming longer and more complex as the story goes on, and they simply require more time from me to assemble them.
> 
> The next chapter is estimated to be longer (and more interesting, in my opinion) and so it may also require more than the usual ten days until the next post. 
> 
> I hope you will bare the wait with me, as sharing this story with you is the greatest privilege of all :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter - None :)  
> May I remind you though, that I am by no means familiar with anything related to the filming industry, and so, all the mistakes are mine.
> 
> I've actually added a new tag to the story - Romance :)
> 
> This chapter is a small holiday gift for my dear friend [sunnylight171](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnylight171/pseuds/sunnylight171) :)
> 
> May you all enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Happy holidays to everyone :)

“Here will be fine, you can drop me right there.”

 

The driver slows down the car to a full stop and hauls it next to the curb. Tom pays him, wears his cap and exits the taxi. He hefts his bag on his back and strides towards the studio complex.

 

He pulls open the building’s heavy door for the main area of the studios and blinks rapidly a few times as he is encircled with the set’s familiar, crisp air of makeup odors and noises of busy human chatter.

 

Observing the studio’s complex again after ten days of absence, Tom moves through the halls and heads towards the dressing rooms, a distinct tingle in his stomach constantly present within him.

 

He enters the main dressing room, announces his presence with a good morning greeting, and shortly he is approached by his two devoted dressing ladies who urge him to follow them.

 

Tom meets the ladies with a smile and turns to walk behind them, quietly humming to himself as his eyes search the room only to find that the man he is looking for is not there.

 

He participates only a little in their small talk as they dress him as Loki and wear him with mild makeup, calmly waiting for them to finish their work.

 

He takes one last look at himself just before he leaves the room, satisfied when he finds that his face is not wearing that morning’s blanched tint anymore.

 

Tom leaves the room in measured steps, stretching his neck as he is making his way into the main set. He finds the set whirling with crewmen hauling their large cameras to their stations, and groups of extras being positioned into their final stances on the stage.

 

He walks towards the main stage, and one of the executives catches him for a small chat about today’s filming schedule just as Tom spots the sight of a familiar figure at the corner of his eye. A playful urge coils in his belly as Tom listens patiently to the lady, glancing sideways only a single time to confirm whom he thought he saw standing at the stage’s edge, rather isolated from other staff members.

 

Tom nods politely and thanks the executive once she hands Tom his manuscript, then intends to renew his movement towards his target man when a small idea occurs to him. He ponders it only for a moment, then shifts his steps in order to take a small detour, stealthily heading to the stage’s corner via a less noticeable path.

 

A mischievous smile forms on Tom’s lips as he approaches Chris from behind, walking as quietly as possible, slowly coming to stand by the man’s side as he appears to be reading through his own manuscript.

 

With Chris dressed as Thor and absorbed in his papers, face so serious again, Tom grins wickedly, body warm with energy.

 

“Brother,” Tom says, looking straight ahead onto the set, his tone stern.

 

Chris jerks his head up and looks sideways at the voice, clearly startled, and Tom chuckles.

 

“Good morning,” Tom says through his grin as he hears Chris’s sharp laugh.

 

“Good morning,” Chris replies, joining Tom’s chuckle, “You’re back.”

 

Tom senses Chris looking at him, but he keeps his eyes staring ahead, not turning to meet the man’s stare, deliberately letting Chris have his fill while he enjoys the attention bestowed on him.

 

“It’s good to see you,” Chris says, his papers rustling as he fumbles with them a little, “How are you?’”

 

Tom looks sideways, taking in Chris’s face for the first time.

 

The man’s eyes appear interested and his lips are wearing a timid, boyish smile. Tom notes a slight flush on Chris’s cheeks as he waits for Tom’s response and he resists the urge to pull the man into a mirthful hug in the middle of the set.

 

 _Things have changed_ , that old, mad whisper caresses him from within, and Tom instinctively listens, knowing it to be truthful.

 

“I’m all good, delighted to be sleeping on my regular bed again,” he answers smoothly and Chris laughs again, his eyes wandering around them, looking both earnest and shy at the same time.

 

“And how was your time with your family? and the festival? How did it go?” Chris asks further, his coy eagerness filling Tom’s chest with some greedy will to encircle Chris and catch him.

 

“My family is all good, the festival was… of use,” Tom says and pauses, directing his eyes to the bustling set again, his voice playful yet viciously low, meant only for Chris to hear.

 

“England is a fair lady indeed, but, you see, there was no one there to give me a ride home when the evenings got rainy.”

 

It takes a moment for Chris to catch Tom’s meaning, and when he finally does he laughs breathily, this time bringing his palm to fist is over his mouth as he clears his throat into it.

 

“Yeah, you’ve got some vicious winds blowing there after sunset huh?” Chris mumbles unevenly and Tom bursts out laughing, unable to hold himself back.

 

“Yea, have your fun,” Chris murmurs with a bashful smile and Tom giggles a few times more, just for good measure.

 

The set is almost ready with everyone’s positioning, but Tom remains still at his place as he observes the general activity, wishing to prolong their little banter just a few moments more, knowing him and Chris will be the last ones to be directed to their stances.

 

“How about you? Is everything well?”

 

Chris clears his throat once more.

 

“Yes, I’m fine,” he says, but Tom catches some hesitation in his voice, and his smile falters a little.

 

“Are you now.”

 

Chris shifts on his legs with a small exhale and Tom’s senses sharpen even further.

 

“Tom! Chris! Get yourselves ready in three minutes!”, Rodney’s voice is heard over the crowd and Chris tenses a little, gesturing to Rodney that they’ve heard him.

 

“Will you tell me?” Tom asks again, and Chris bristles at him.

 

“Nothing is wrong Tom,” he says.

 

Tom does not respond, silently contemplating whether he will press the man further or not, but then Chris turns to give him a pointed look.

 

“We had some tiring argument this morning, and it got the best of me.”

 

Tom frowns at first, confused at who is it exactly that Chris is referring to, but in a second thought, he figures it out. Elsa, Chris is talking about Elsa.

 

Taken aback, Tom runs his eyes over the set, jaws working, face tilting slightly upwards.

 

A fight with his wife.

 

He wants to offer some kind of comfort to the man, meet his own assumption that they are still good friends, but his heart stiffens, keeping his lips pressed tightly shut.

 

_I did not want to hear about her. Not today._

 

“So, Tommy,” Chris says, his tone peculiar, and when Tom inclines his head, he sees Chris looking back at him, an arrogant smile playing on his lips.

 

“Do you regret asking me for my well being then?” Chris asks him, cocking his head in an obvious taunt.

 

The bastard is simply trying to change the subject, Tom thinks, to lure them both back into another harmless banter, but Tom falls for the challenge anyway, sensing his belly filling with that familiar, greedy urge to hunt Chris down, to wear him out.

 

Tom looks around them for a moment, making sure they are out of everybody else’s hearing range, turns sideways to face Chris fully. He leans towards Chris, allowing himself to invade into the man’s personal space by an invisible inch, then searches for his eyes and holds them.

 

He will beat Chris in their game today.

 

“I regret nothing I’ve done with you, Hemsworth. Absolutely nothing.”

 

His words hang in the air as none of them says nothing for a moment, and Tom slowly curves his mouth into a vicious small grin.

 

Chris blinks, Tom’s full intention dawning on him, then breaks their eye contact and turns to look away.

 

“You-,” he murmurs with a shy smile, “You’re crazy,” he says, making Tom laugh again, and Chris joins him with his own chuckle, flush slowly creeping up the man’s neck.

 

 _He’s gorgeous like this, just gorgeous_ , Tom suddenly thinks and shakes himself out of the notion, determined to enjoy his small victory a little longer.

 

“How do you come up with this stuff,” Chris mutters quietly, shaking his head, and Tom touches his shoulder lightly, licking his lips while feeling satisfied.

 

“Come on, let’s go, people are waiting for us,” he says, then turns away to walk towards the main stage, hearing Chris following him close behind.

This feels good, so natural.

 

Such a sweet little triumph, Tom thinks.

 

And the day has only just begun.

 

 

 

\--------------

 

 

 

They both find their places on the main stage just on time, mere moments before they would have been actively searched for.

 

Silence falls onto the set when the senior producer makes his countdown, and the cameras start rolling.

 

Tom feels sharp today, vital, and his scenes play out accordingly - efficient and precise.

 

The executives also sense that their day is about to turn more productive than they had first thought, and they decide to work everyone just a little harder than usual today.

 

They get their first recess from the cameras in late morning, a few minutes break during which one of the designers wipes the slight sweat from Tom’s forehead and renews his makeup.

 

He remains immobile as possible while the lady tends him, flashes from the previous night with Tiffany running through his mind. He had spent the previous night with her, they were still in bed together just a few hours prior to this moment, yet the whole experience feels distant, as if it had occurred weeks ago.

 

Just before the lady is done with him, Tom recalls Tiffany’s idea regarding his birthday and ponders about the matter again. He’s practically agreed to follow her offer, but there is one more thing he would like to make sure of before he gives her his final consent.

 

He receives a cup of water into his hands, and as Tom lifts his eyes to idly serve the stage, he sees Chris being tended by a designer as well, only that - it appears that Chris is looking straight at Tom as he is being prepped.

 

Their eyes meet only for a moment, and suddenly playful again, Tom smiles cockily, then winks at the man.

 

Chris catches Tom’s gesture, and he blinks back at Tom, looking surprised. He shifts his stance, turning his head to look at the other direction, and Tom hears the lady who is tending him gently scold him to remain still under her ministrations.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he hears Chris mutter under his breath, that sweet flush covering his neck again, and Tom laughs under his breath, quietly nursing his cup of water.

 

A second victory then, Tom thinks once the cameras start rolling again, appeased.

 

_Today, I win._

 

 

 

\---------------

 

 

 

“Alright everybody, let’s take some lunch break. Catch your breath and be back here in an hour.”

 

Next to him, Chris grunts and removes the heavy hood from his head. The man wipes the sweat from his forehead and sighs heavily. Tom, sticky beneath his costume as well, follows suit and removes the heaviest parts of his costume.

 

He requests for two large cups of ice cold water from one of the assistants and hands one of them to Chris as they step down from the main stage.

 

“Will you have a few spare moments later on? I’d like to speak with you about something,” Tom asks once they leave the set’s stage zone.

 

Chris purses his lips together in return, looking uncertain.

 

“I am not sure actually. I am sent for some late night shootings today outside of town, and so I will be leaving the set right after lunch.”

 

Tom frowns for a moment, then hums when he recalls that indeed, according to their itinerary, today’s following scenes will not require Thor’s character.

 

“I see,” he says quietly, feeling disappointed.

 

Chris looks at him curiously, furrowing his eyebrows together.

 

“What is it? Do you need anything?” he asks.

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tom replies halfheartedly.

 

“We can discuss this later on the phone I suppose,” he says, but in truth, he wishes to speak to Chris about the matter face to face.

 

Chris searches his face one more time, then lets his eyes wander over the set. He works his jaws a few times then turns to look at Tom again, his face resolved.

 

“Wait. Are you free for a little while now? There is small convenience store just outside the complex. A quick trip can give us some time to talk, and we’ll get back here with enough time for you to have lunch,” Chris says while looking at Tom, his face full of intent.

 

“We can…if you want, we can go?”

 

Tom is already biting down a smile by Chris’s mid-sentence, absurdly flattered with the man’s effort to make their conversation happen.

 

“Alright, sure. We can go.”

 

“Yeah? Brilliant. It’s a small, dingy place, but they have this cool chocolate bar I never manage to find anywhere else,” Chris mutters as he turns to lead the way with Tom following behind him, laughing through his nose.

 

It’s a first score for Chris, the generous part of him claims timidly, and Tom argues it only for a moment, as the little glow in his stomach at the unexpected attention calls it to be true enough.

 

 _No matter, though_ , Tom thinks.

 

He’s on a roll today, with two triumphs against a single, quite accidental one in Chris’s favor.

 

The game is still his, and he shall finish it off as the lead.

 

He’s sure of it.

 

 

 

\------------------

 

 

 

“I didn’t know they got the place renovated,” Chris says in wonder as they both enter the no longer small convenience store.

 

“Me neither,” Tom replies, taking in the new appearance of the place. The store, which has always been located next to the set to serve the current resident workers, used to be a crummy little concrete structure which offered a very little selection of foods and beverages.

 

Apparently, they’ve decided to make a profound change in scenery, rebuilt the entire interior area and added some extra space to the store.

 

Chris leads them straight into the sweets section, in which Tom quickly picks not one, but two snacks for himself to match his good mood.

 

When turns, he sees Chris staring blankly at the long shelf of snacks and treats.

 

“They’d used to have only two types of chocolate snacks here, and I’d always used to take the one which did not contain any raisins,” Chris murmurs, obviously thrown into bewilderment with the newly adjusted selection.

 

Tom laughs, it simply bursts out of his mouth, and quickly scans the shelves for Chris’s chosen snack. He’d seen Chris nibbling on it before, he knows which one he is referring to.

 

It’s somewhat hidden behind the more popular chocolate bars, but when he spots the right one, Tom picks one of the snacks, casually placing it into Chris’s palm.

 

Chris eyes the chocolate bar, shakes his head and bites his lip in a grin.

 

“How did you…How did you find it? And how did you know which one I was looking for?”

 

Tom raises his eyebrow at the man, gives him a knowing smile and turns to go the cashier before he does anything stupid in front of the other customers.

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

Tom picks up a bottle of wine he finds interesting enough to try, and shortly afterwards they are both standing in the line to pay for their snacks and hot beverages, with Chris standing in front of him, first one to pay.

 

He looks around them, and with the store looking almost empty of other customers, Tom clears his throat and takes his chance to speak.

 

“Chris, next Friday is my birthday.”

 

After a moment, Chris nods but does not turn back to look at him, looking straight ahead.

 

“I know.”

 

“You do?” Tom asks, doubtful. Did Chris actually remember the exact date of his birthday?

 

“I do.”

 

Tom pauses as he sees the cashier boy smiling brightly at them. Clearly, he recognizes them and is elated to see them both partially wearing their Thor and Loki costumes.

 

Tom is pulling out some cash out of his wallet when Chris’s palm comes to hold onto his arm, blocking his movement and preventing him from handing the money to the boy.

 

When he looks, Tom sees Chris is smiling back at the boy, passing over his credit card and leaning towards the young man.

 

“Charge it for his things as well please,” Chris says as he gestures for Tom’s buyings.

 

Tom parts his lips but remains dumbly silent as he watches the boy beaming at Chris, as if sharing a joke with him, then charging Chris’s card for all of their items.

 

“Thanks,” Chris smiles back at the boy then gestures at Tom, “Come on, there’s a nice quiet table outside we can use.”

 

“You’re generous today,” Tom grumbles petulantly, yet feels his mischievous heart warmed by Chris’s act.

 

The man is flirting with him, and endearingly so.

 

Chris pulls over the store’s door and patiently holds it open for Tom until Tom leaves the store while shaking his head at Chris, a fake, flattered scorn pasted on his face.

 

That’s a second point for that not-so-subtle thief, Tom’s content internals insist, a claim which Tom accepts with a private, content nod this time.

 

A second point which makes them even.

 

_But the day is not over yet._

 

 

 

\---------------------

 

 

 

“How will you be celebrating your birthday then?” Chris asks him as he takes the first bite from his chocolate bar.

 

Tom opens his first snack, an exquisite bittersweet chocolate bar, or so the package informs him, and slowly nibbles on it.

 

“I’m planning on having an evening out with my sister.  I'll give her a tour in the city then take her out for some fancy dinner.”

 

Chris nods with a smile.

 

“Really? Sounds great.”

 

Tom takes another sip from his cup of hot cocoa and glances Chris one more time before he speaks.

 

“Say, will you be attending that small event the press relations team is organizing next Saturday night to benchmark Thor’s last phase of shooting?”

 

Chris furrows his eyebrows for a moment, seeming to recall details about the occasion from his mind.

 

“Yea, I think I am supposed to be there, make a quick appearance and leave shortly afterwards,” Chris says then looks up to Tom.

 

“What about it?”

 

Tom considers his next words, sensing slightly nervous, yet knowing exactly what it is that he wishes to say.

 

“I’m thinking about having a small party in the same club, right after the event ends. Something like a small gathering of a few friends, and a few members from the staff as well.”

 

Chris eyes him, his face pensive.

 

“A birthday party, you mean.”

 

Tom nods, holding Chris’s gaze in return.

 

“Yes. And I would very much like to see you there.”

 

Chris pauses for a moment, then cocks his head sideways a little, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

 

“Was this Tiffany’s idea?”

 

Tom laughs a small, spiritless huff.

 

“And if it is?”

 

Chris looks at him, searching Tom’s face, chocolate bar seemingly forgotten. Slowly, he exhales through his nose and a small, sad smile forms onto his lips.

 

“Then she’s a smart girl. It’s very nice of her to organize something like this for you.”

 

Tom stares at the man, the sweet, buttery chocolate turning almost tasteless in his mouth.

 

He takes the last bite of his snack, wanting it finished, then drains his cup of cocoa as well in a single, hot sip, licking his lips afterwards.

 

“Is that a refusal then? You won’t stay for the party.”

 

Chris is gazing at an unknown spot beyond Tom’s shoulder, gently rocking his paper cup onto the table in an unrecognizable rhythm.

 

“No, I did not mean it that way. I’ll stay,” he says, his voice distant, then shifts his eyes to look at Tom, his mouth curved into that small, sad smile again.

 

“I’ll be there.”

 

 

 

\------------------

 

 

 

They head back to the complex shortly afterwards, walking side by side, not saying a word to each other until they reach the back entrance of the building.

 

From here, Tom will enter the building and head back into the main stage zone and  
Chris will head to his dressing room which is found across the small road. Afterwards, the man will leave on his way to the other shooting site.

 

“So. I suppose I will see you soon then.” Tom says as they stop at the gate. He will see Chris two, perhaps three more times on the set until his birthday party next weekend.

 

“This was very nice. I’m glad you came with me. I would have never made it by myself in that store,” Chris says, smiling shyly while looking at Tom’s face, then his chest.

 

Tom chuckles, not looking into Chris’s eyes.

 

Their small trip had been very nice indeed, and like any other slot of time he spends alone with Chris, it fleeted away like a pleasant, heartwarming laughter.

 

“I was having some pretty good time until you paid for my things in front of that kid and made him think that Loki is practically broke, unable to pay for sweets and wine.”

 

Chris hears the taunt in Tom’s voice, he must have, and yet he only continues to stare at him, remaining wordless as his eyes travel to Tom’s throat.

 

He looks around them, appearing to check their surroundings for any other person who might pass by, then returns to look at Tom, who feels his belly rounding on itself at the man’s unmistakable behavior.

 

_What is he going to do? Oh, Chris-_

 

Chris breathes deeply, then lifts his arm to run the back of his fingers on Tom’s cheek, his jaw, letting them slip down over his neck, gently caressing Tom’s skin.

 

Tom inhales through his teeth then closes his eyes. With his limbs suddenly heavy and his chest full, he leans his cheek against Chris’s touch, sensing the small shivers in the man’s fingers.

 

“You are a cheat.”

 

_And I will get back at you for this._

 

“I wanted to pay for you, ok?” Chris says quietly, then pauses.

 

“I had to do it. You look so lovely today.”

 

The words shake him, and instinctively Tom opens his eyes, as if trying to verify what he just heard.

 

There is a small smile on Chris’s lips, yet his face is serious.

 

“You’re impossible, Chris,” Tom mutters, reaching with his own hand to rest his palm over Chris’s lower arm.

 

 _He beat you hard in your own game_ , Tom mocks himself as he runs his own trembling hand over Chris’s, wanting to entwine their fingers together and lean over to kiss him, it’s the kisses he misses more than everything else-

 

A few steps are heard in their proximity.

 

They both freeze in their movement, and slowly but surely, Chris removes his arm from Tom’s face, his heat slipping away.

 

This will be his cue to leave, Tom thinks, sensing temper gathering in his stomach.

 

“You should go, Chris, before somebody sees something they should not,” he says only half-jokingly, not wanting to turn bitter.

 

“Yes, I know,” Chris says quietly, observing Tom’s face and readjusting his bag over his back.

 

“All right then,” he continues when Tom says nothing, looking unhappy with the unexpected change of mood.

 

He nods at Tom, looks at his face one more time, mutters a quiet ‘bye’ then turns to cross the road over to the dressing rooms.

 

Folding his arms over his chest, Tom watches Chris’s figure gaining more distance from him, his cheek still warm from the man’s gentle touch.

 

 _It will never feel like this with Tiffany, not even by half_ , his mind supplies suddenly, and the abrupt notion makes Tom’s fingers dig harder onto his own arms.

 

A moment passes, and Tom blinks away the thought, turning around to walk back towards the set. He runs his palm over his cheek once, only once, as if to wipe away invisible evidence for what had just happened with Chris.

 

It is Chris who wins the game today, Tom thinks, not himself.

 

And he shall beat him another day, but this… this feels sweeter than any other victory.

 

 

 

\--------------

 

 

 

“Tom, Look behind you.”

 

Tom turns around with his cell phone still pressed to his ear and smiles broadly when he sees her.

 

Emma waves at him, then quickens her steps to meet him until they both sweep each other into a tight embrace. Tom hugs his sister tightly, kisses her cheek then her forehead, squeezing her playfully to him and releasing her only when she squeals at him to, favoring him with satisfaction for his tease.

 

“You look brilliant, so pretty,” He says with a wide smile. He’s missed her so.

 

“Oh, You too, my silly, dashing brother. Happy birthday Tommy,” his sister wishes him brightly and hugs him once more.

 

When they settle down Tom gestures for a taxi to take them away from the airport towards the city’s center. He's brought his cap and sunglasses with him in case the place will turn out to be too crowded, but he hopes for the best.

 

His name day has turned to be graced with some lovely, spring-like weather. Tom had spent his day resting, talking to his friends and family and having an overall good, peaceful time.

 

They are planned to visit one of the town’s most prestigious men’s wear and accessories store, as Emma claims to feel profound dislike for Tom’s current wallet and insists on buying him a new one as a birthday gift.

 

His sister tells him about her flight, about how things are going at home back in the UK, and about how she plans to spend her vacation here in the States along with her husband who will arrive at the US within the next several days.

 

Once in the store, Tom lets his sister, taken by the store’s sophisticated interior, wander around the place.

 

Tom is eyeing a jacket that caught his attention when his cell phone rings. When he sees the caller’s identity, he smiles to himself, feeling satisfied.

 

He hasn’t heard from Chris today and tried to think of it as little as possible, urging himself to wait patiently until the end of the day and give the man a proper chance to call him.

 

Tom serves his environment, making sure he is not surrounded by too many people, then takes the call, about to collect the prize for his patience.

 

“I’m impressed,” Tom says, “I didn’t think you’d remember after all.”

 

“I was pretty sure I would forget all about it actually, if you must know.” Chris counters him and Tom chuckles as pleasant warmth fills his body.

 

“So how are you? Are you having fun with your sister? You're probably being sprinkled with attention.”

 

“Oh, yes, I have been drowned with affection and great compliments to my person throughout the day, and I am loving every moment of it,” Tom says, enjoying Chris’s laugh in return.

 

“Well then, good, I am happy for you.”

 

Somewhat awkward silence fills the line for few a moments, but Tom accepts it. Conversations over the phone are not among his and Chris’s better collaboration attempts.

 

“So um, some greetings are in order,” Chris says in a low voice.

 

“Why, thank you,” Tom replies, taking great pleasure in their conversation nevertheless.

 

Chris asks him about his day, whether he is having some good time with Emma, then clears his throat.

 

“Well. I admit that I don’t have much more to say, and your sister must be waiting. Go and have your fun.”

 

“I will,” Tom says and continues, anxious to know, “Will you be staying for my little party tomorrow?”

 

Chris hums.

 

“I will, yes. This I hadn’t forgotten about either.”

 

Tom hears the words and smiles to himself, absently trailing his hand over the jacket’s fabric.

 

“Ok, great. That’s Brilliant. It will be good to see you there.”

 

A moment passes until Chris replies.

 

“Yes, all right. Take care of yourself and your sister ok? Happy birthday Tommy.”

 

Tom closes his eyes.

 

_Thank you, sweetheart. My prince._

 

“I’m glad you called me Chris, Thank you. I will see you tomorrow then.”

 

They finish the call and Tom slowly lowers the device back to his pocket, replaying their small chat in his head. When he turns around, Tom sees his Emma watching him, her lips curved into a knowing smile.

 

“Who was that?”

 

Tom chuckles and raises an eyebrow at her, pushing his hands into his pockets.

 

“She must be special, being able to make you smile like this,” Emma says.

 

She is curious, yet her tone is gentle and caring, and it stirs something inside Tom, as if a rare, lucky chance has just been presented to him. An opening to talk and share some of his heavy secrets, with someone whom he loves dearly.

 

He hasn’t spoken about Chris to anyone, ever. Not a single word.

 

“She is special, yes,” he says slowly, tasting the words in his mouth.

 

Emma grins at him. She reminds him of himself.

 

“She must be lovely.”

 

Lovely… No, Lovely is not the right word to describe him. Chris is-

 

“Beautiful, actually,” he says, idly observing the store as he speaks, words spilling out of his mouth like water.

 

“She’s like a… a fleeting bird, you know?” Tom says, his chest suddenly heavy. He’s been through so much during the last few months.

 

“She kisses me when we get a chance to meet, lets me hold her and make her laugh-” Tom continues, swallowing down his throat.

 

“And then she has to leave, and she flies away.”

 

Tom licks his lips, swallowing again.

 

“She’s a tricky one then?” Emma asks him, and Tom thinks about it only a moment, then laughs at how precise her observation is.

 

“I see,” she comments, looking amused.

 

“Be a gentleman with her Tommy. Treat her nicely.”

 

_What? But I am-_

 

“What do you mean?” he asks, instinctively resenting her, all while her words gradually settle into his mind.

 

No, he is not being gentle with Chris. He hasn’t shown him even half the gentleness he bestows on Tiffany.

 

He has never told Chris he finds him beautiful or how he enjoys his company, never thanked him for his small gifts or his shaky phone calls. Not even once.

 

“Call me crazy, but I think you like her, and I also think that some tenderness and affection will calm you both down.”

 

Tom looks at her for a moment, shakes his head, then breathes sharply through his nose.

 

_I do. I do like him. I feel so much for him, and he is more dear to me than I can handle sometimes._

 

Emma grins playfully at him then puts her hand to his shoulder and squeezes him gently.

 

“I just love being right with you Tommy. That look on your face, it’s priceless,” she says, and Tom chuckles with her, because, in fact, it really is possible that she is correct about everything she has just said.

 

“But anyway. I like this one. what do you think?” Emma asks while showing him an elegant wallet she has picked out for him.

 

“Looks pretty good. I like it,” Tom mutters at her, slowly absorbing his own admissions to himself, and she reaches to hold onto his arm as he leads them both towards the cashier stand.

 

They leave the store shortly afterwards, with Tom earning himself a small cheer from his sister as he holds the door open for her to exit the door first.

 

She slips her arm through his as they walk down the street, warming each other against the cool evening air around them.

 

Emma turns her head to look at him after a while, a the smallest of smiles displayed on her lips.

 

“I hope to meet her some time,” she says softly, sending Tom into a long silence.

 

A certain flow of images float through his mind, one Tom has already thought of before. He sees himself and his family sitting for a joined dinner in his parent’s house, and Chris is there as well, sitting next to him, holding Tom’s hand under the table, being shy and timid like the unique fool that he is.

 

Can a scene such as this ever take place in reality?

 

Tom gestures his head upwards, and looks.

 

The sun is blocked behind the buildings of the city, yet the sky is dyed with bright, wild sunset beams of orange, which is one of his favorite colors.

 

He squeezes his sister’s arm and urges her to look upwards as well, showing her the magnificent sky.

 

“This is all for my birthday, you know,” he tells her, and naught after that.

 

 

 

\---------------

 

 

 

Chris steps out of the bathtub, his wet feet quenching the thin rug with water.

 

He dries his body with his towel, wraps it around his waist and turns to the sink to catch his reflection in the mirror, then brushes his teeth.

 

Their bedroom is almost completely obscured by the lack of illumination, its dimness only disturbed by the faintest light of the moon gliding through the window’s shutters.

 

Chris taps as quietly as possible towards the bed, carefully slipping under the covers to lie next to Elsa, who is fast asleep just like the rest of the family members.

 

When he glances at his cell phone, Chris is notified by the alarm clock that he is left with a little less than seven hours to sleep until he wakes up for his next day of work.

 

Annoyed, he frowns at the device. Those alarms always make his body stiffen the moment they start ringing every morning.

 

Chris drops the cell phone onto the cupboard, then folds his arms under his head and stares at the ceiling, straight into the darkness.

 

Ever since Chris had been a child, nighttime has always been a trigger to the rise of his deeper thoughts. It was as if the decline of regular activity and emergence of night’s silence were releasing his private notions, usually the ones which unnerved him the most, to dance vividly in front of his mind’s eye.

 

Tonight, there is this one image of Tom which appears before Chris, an image from his most recent visit to Tom’s apartment which has already taken a part in Chris’s nightly thoughts before.

 

In his re-emerging memories, Chris sees Tom standing in the middle of his kitchen, his shoulders taut, and harsh, accusing words are coming out of his mouth while he points at his bedroom and his eyes…

 

Chris breaths sharply through his nose, fingers clenching under his head.

 

Tom’s eyes were red and moist, Chris remembers it well, the man’s throat eliciting that unpleasant cough.

 

Chris closes his eyes and listens to the house’s twilight’s quiet rumbles, willing himself to relax.

 

Tomorrow Tom’s party shall take place.

 

There is something Chris wishes to do for Tom’s birthday, and yet, he dreads the man’s reaction to his planned deed.

 

Will Tom be offended? Will he accept Chris’s gesture? Will he be content with it? Happy even, perhaps?

 

Chris snorts quietly and smiles to himself. He can never anticipate Tom’s responses nor predict his temperament. The man is like a box of surprises which sometimes burns one to the touch.

 

He thinks of Tom, of how the man’s attitude changes sometimes when they need to part ways, when another thought comes to mind.

 

Tom’s woman.

 

She will be present in the party tomorrow, Chris can feel it in his bones.

 

 _No more questions about Tom from her_ , he thinks insistently, reaching to rub his eyes with the back of his arm.

 

Long, quiet moments pass while Chris waits until his body calms, wishing to get some proper rest before tomorrow.

 

When finally his body grows heavy with approaching slumber, Chris’s mind slowly clears of his beating thoughts.

 

 _Do it,_ is heard distantly, a low murmur which blends harmonically with the quieter, more peaceful chatter of the night. It feels like a slow caress on his cheek - calming Chris’s eyes to grow heavy and his limbs loosen. He sleeps.

 

 _Do what you want to do_ , it whispers, speaking in the same rhythm of Chris’s beating heart.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a perfect day, you made me forget myself.  
> I thought I was someone else, someone good.
> 
> Oh, it's such a perfect day - I'm glad I spent it with you.  
> Oh, such a perfect day, you just keep me hanging on.
> 
> Oh, I'm going to reap just what I sow.
> 
>  
> 
> [ Perfect Day - Lou Reed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYEC4TZsy-Y)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> A few quick reminders -  
>   
> 1\. During the previous chapter, Tiffany had offered Tom to combine his birthday party with Thor's last shooting phase event, and Tom had accepted her offer.  
> 2\. Tom had chosen to invite Chris for this party.  
> 3\. Tom's postcards scene is detailed towards the middle of chapter 16.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter -  
> \- Intense conversations, emotions and thoughts - see regular tags.  
> \- Beyond platonic dynamics between an OFC and one of our two heroes, yet nothing explicit.  
> \- Some language.  
> \- Usage of physical force - yet no violence occurs, nobody gets harmed.  
> \- Some suspense
> 
> So, this is the longest, most intricate chapter I have published to this day.
> 
> May you enjoy this, and may this chapter grip your interest as it has gripped mine.

 

There is a group of people waiting at the club’s main entrance, and at Tom’s instructions, the driver steers the car around the gathering, leading the taxi to the club’s back entrance.

 

After Tom leaves the car, he is immediately met by one of the security representatives who hastily leads him to the intended door. Once inside, Tom is greeted by the hostess, a small petite lady who hugs him and wishes him a happy birthday. She also informs him that the club is indeed, more than happy to be housing his birthday party tonight.

 

After returning hostess’ courtesy with some compliments of his own, Tom turns to continue on his way to the club’s entrance lobby. He is pulling off his coat just as he hears a familiar voice calling out his name.

 

“Tommy! You’re here!”

 

Tom tilts his head, and he sees Tiffany approaching him, beaming. He finishes removing his coat and meets her with a close embrace. 

 

“Happy birthday baby,” she says, rubbing their noses together and placing a small kiss on his cheek.

 

Tom, being unused to affection explicitly expressed in public, chuckles and feels his face warm under her endearments.

 

“Most of the guests are already here,” she informs him as she slips her arm through his, looking as pretty as she usually does, her smile gleaming and her voice enthusiastic.

 

“There is a single reporter who is also present among the guests. He might ask you one or two questions during the evening, but I’ve already instructed him not to make too much fuss or harass anyone with excessive questions.”

 

With the confidence of a well seasoned professional events planner, Tiffany leads them both into the club’s main arena, and Tom takes his surroundings. 

 

There are eye-catching, dynamic lighting fixtures placed on the ceiling, filling the whole club’s interior with a moving flow of colorful light rays, and the music playing on the background increases the effect, matching the pace of the floating glow.

 

The club is undoubtedly fancy looking, just as Tom suspected it would be. It is constructed of a well-decorated medium size arena which includes an alcohol bar, lounging zone with tables and seats, and a large, round dancing floor located in its center. 

 

Approaching the lounging zone with Tiffany, Tom manages to spot people he knows from the set, including a few familiar executives and several more people owning some well-known titles, all talking to each other around the lounging room.

 

“The official event is expected to last for another hour or less. So, just before the formal business affairs will near their end, I’ll bring out a special cake I’ve gotten for you, and we’ll take a few pictures together,” the lady informs him, her grin noticeable in her tone.

“You’ve gotten a cake for me?” Tom asks, turning to look at her with his eyebrow raised and a smile on his lips. 

 

“Yes, I have,” she answers, squeezing his arm while pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

 

“After taking those pictures and delivering some customary praises and acknowledgments, the official people shall leave and we’ll have the club for ourselves.”

They both halt their steps just before they reach the event’s dedicated area, while Tom’s arrival still hasn’t been noticed by anyone else but Tiffany.

 

The lady pushes herself to stand on her toes and kisses Tom’s cheek one more time, her face displaying that vibrant expression again, greedy and intelligent as a hungry little fox.

 

“I better go back to my team now and make sure everything is working out as it should. I’ll find you a little later and keep you up to date,” she tells him, then -

 

“Is there anything else you need help with?”

 

Tom smiles at her.

 

“No Tiff, everything, including yourself, looks fantastic. You’ve done a great job as usual. I’ll probably catch up with you later, when you won’t be so busy.”

 

Tiffany cocks her head and leers at him.

 

“So many compliments. Does that mean you’ll be asking me for a dance later on?”

 

_ Asking her for a dance. _

 

“I will,” Tom says curtly, ignoring the momentary, unexplained hesitation that he feels at the idea.

 

Tiffany eyes him for a moment, as if catching Tom’s qualms, then releases Tom’s arm and comes to stand in front of him.

“I will be looking forward to it then.”

 

She kisses his cheek one more time before she leaves, and Tom steps into the dedicated lounging zone. Soon, Tom’s arrival is noticed and he is welcomed by the rest of the guests and friendly faces from the set. 

 

As he is being heartily greeted for his birthday and fervently embraced by his colleagues and friends, Tom eyes the surrounding tables and seats, searching for someone in particular among the guests and flashing cameras. 

 

“How are you doing Tom?” one of his friends asks him with a slap to his back, and Tom smiles as warmly as he can, shaking the man’s hand, delving into an easy conversation with him.

 

_ He said he’ll be here, and he will. _

  
  


\------------------

  
  


The evening moves on, and after their first initial meeting, Tom sees very little of Tiffany. 

 

When he does catch sight of her, she appears to be fluently administrating all affairs related to the desired progress of the evening. The woman is scheduling speedy interviews and photography sessions for the present guests, is keeping a close eye of the refreshments and alcohol being constantly served to the relevant people, and Tom even senses she has a meaningful say with the selection of the currently playing music. 

 

_ This is where she shines, _ Tom muses as he watches her elegantly twirling around the club. 

 

_ In here, she is powerful. _

  
  


_ \-------------------- _

  
  


It is towards the end of the official part of the evening that while Tom is chatting with two of his colleagues, he feels a soft poke to his back.

 

When he pauses to look over his shoulder, he sees Tiffany looking back at him, quietly asking him whether he has a moment for her.

 

“Of course,” Tom says, excuses himself from his colleagues’ table and walks them both to a somewhat more isolated corner in the lounge area.

 

“What’s up?”, Tom asks once they find a proper spot for a quick conversation, leaning his head towards her smaller frame in order to hear her voice properly over the music.

 

“I just wanted to inform you that my assistances will bring out your cake within a few moments, so, just be ready for my cue.”

 

Tom straightens up, his lips pursing together as he swiftly serves the lounge area again with his eyes, searching for him once more.

 

“Alright, um-” Tom says and pauses, taking a quick look at his wrist watch. 

 

It’s just after ten PM. He was supposed to be here already.

 

“Tiff, can we-, can we wait a few more minutes with the cake?

 

Tiffany furrows her eyebrows, confused, then follows Tom’s movement and takes a longer look around them, inspecting the crowd.

 

“Is there someone you are waiting for?” she asks him.

 

Tom pauses at this, feeling stupid as his mind fumbles for a smart answer for Tiffany’s question. 

 

It’s just a silly little birthday cake ceremony. He should have kept his mouth shut. 

 

Tiffany observes the crowd one more time, then returns to look at Tom, her eyes narrowing a little, as if something just clicked into place within her mind.

 

“Is it Chris? Are you waiting for him to show up?” she asks him.

 

A slight shiver runs through Tom’s body.

 

_ How did you know? _

 

He cannot lie to her, he knows his instantly. She’ll catch it right away.

 

“I’m right, am I not,” Tiffany continues with a raised eyebrow, and Tom opens his mouth to answer, anxious to reply.

 

“We don’t need to-”

 

“Well then,” she cuts him mid-sentence, hey eyes flicking between him and beyond his shoulder,  “You don’t have to worry anymore. I can see your man entering the lounge as we speak.”

 

Tom furrows his eyebrows together.

 

“What? ” he murmurs idly and looks behind him, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. 

 

And the lady is right, Tom thinks as he spots Chris’s figure being led into the club by the same hostess who welcomed him nearby the entrance more than an hour ago.

 

Chris is wearing a dark blue buttoned shirt which is tucked into a pair of jeans, and a brown jacket to cover his torso.

 

He is looking almost too casual, yet still refined, Tom notes contentedly to himself, watching the man stepping into the lounge area and being welcomed by the other guests.

 

“Well then, shall we go and say hello?” 

 

Pulled back into focus, Tom blinks at her, her question throwing him out of balance.

 

Approaching Chris with Tiffany, obviously, is not his first choice. He’d rather say hello to Chris by himself, tackle the man down at a time Tom will deem proper enough for them to share a brief moment of their own.

 

_ But she knew I was waiting for Chris. _

 

Refusing her offer may only trigger further questions about Chris, and Tom is certainly not interested in discussing anything related to Chris with Tiffany.

 

This unexpected little scene must be played out carefully. 

 

With a nod, Tom lets the lady slip her arm through his again, walking them both towards the man in question, who appears to be exchanging a few pleasantries with one of guest as Tom and Tiffany advance to meet him.

 

“Chris,” Tiffany calls.

 

Upon hearing his name, Chris glances at their direction. He pauses when he notices them both, flicking his eyes over Tom, then Tiffany. Soon, his other conversation is finalized with a squeeze to the shoulder, and he turns to face them fully. 

 

Tom identifies that flat, official smile worn on Chris’s lips, and feels restless.

 

_ I wanted to come to you alone _ , he wants to explain.

 

“Tiffany, you look very elegant tonight,” Chris greets her with a deep nod, and Tiffany, that brave girl, steps forward and raises herself on her toes to place a light kiss on Chris’s cheek.

 

Not all women take on their opportunity to greet Chris in a manner such as this, and instantly, Tom envies both Tiffany’s daring nature and her liberty as a woman to use it with him.

 

Chris accepts her gesture with another neat smile, the graceful gentleman that he is, then looks at Tom.

 

“And Tom, the man of the hour,” he says just as politely, then extends his arm to Tom for a cordial handshake, nothing more.

 

Tom eyes Chris’s extended arm, swallows down the urge to ignore it with a frown, and accepts the offered handshake.

 

Chris’s grip is instantly firm and tight, much tighter than it should be, and Tom meets the sudden silent challenge at once, pressing onto Chris’s fingers with an equivalent force of his own while looking into Chris’s unreadable eyes.

 

“Chris, good of you to come,” Tom says in a low voice. 

 

_ You bastard _ , he thinks as Chris releases his hand,  _ I will never understand you. _

 

“Well,” Tiffany suddenly comments, clearly perplexed at their cool exchange, “Chris, We are just about to bring out Tom’s birthday cake and make a few photo shots of everyone together.”

 

Chris nods at her, pinching his nose as he seems to take in her words.

 

“I see. No problem. I shall be nearby once the shootings begin,” he says,  then - “and I’ll also be there to watch Tom’s birthday ceremony, of course,” he adds quietly, momentarily meeting Tom’s eyes.

 

“Thank you,” Tom murmurs, hardly hearing any of Tiffany’s words to Chris as she hands him a few more final details about the upcoming photo shootings.

 

“I’ll see you two later then, yeah?” Chris says casually afterwards, nodding at them one last time before he turns to walk back to the other guests.

 

“So,” Tiffany says after a moment, tearing Tom’s attention from Chris’s retreating back.

 

“You ask me to hold onto the cake until he shows up, and when you actually see him, you two exchange no more than ten words and a bleak handshake?”

 

Tom licks his lips, grinding his jaws together he clenches and unclenches his fingers inside his trousers pocket.  He does not wish to answer. 

 

“You two looked like two boys playing in the mud,” she adds, her condescending tone sending a wave of annoyance through Tom’s blood.

 

_ I should have come to him alone. _

 

“What can I say,” Tom responds through his teeth, his muscles growing rigid under the weight of  Tiffany’s arm.

 

“It was him. He started all of it.”

 

\------------------

 

“Alright everyone, one more group picture with the cake, and then-” the photographer searches for Tom’s face and gestures at him with the camera.

 

“Tom, I’d like to shoot you blowing the candles, is that ok with you?”

 

“Absolutely,” Tom replies, “just tell me where you want me to stand.”

 

The photographer shoots the additional group photo he needs, then positions Tom in the middle, right in front of the rest of the production members and actors, and instructs him to blow off the candles once he is ready.

 

There is a small wave of cheer and clapping after the candles are blown off, and Tom smiles bashfully and blushes, somewhat embarrassed under the circle of attention. 

 

Tiffany steps into the middle of the gathering then, informing the rest of the guests that the official press relations event has ended, diplomatically implying that Tom’s private birthday party is soon to begin and that the reporters and photographers are about to be efficiently ushered outside of the lounge area.

 

Additional words are exchanged between Tiffany and official representatives of the club, and while the shootings participants begin to scatter away from their positioning, Tom senses hands landing on his shoulders and back as some of his friends and colleagues surround him in order to greet him personally, pulling him into friendly hugs and warm handshakes. 

 

Tiffany is the last one to greet him, grinning widely as she approaches him and pulls him into another hug of her own, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

 

“Happy birthday party sweety,” she tells him quietly, then releases him from her embrace after he thanks her.

 

She means to tell him something more, but one of her team associates comes to stand next to them just as she starts to speak, informing her that her presence is needed.

 

Tiffany purses her lips and asks the young man to wait a few more moments until she is free, but Tom squeezes her shoulder, leaning his head down towards hers face.

 

“Tiff, no need to make him wait. We can find each other later, ok?” 

 

She holds Tom’s eyes, appearing to consider his words. She seems unhappy with his comments, but Tom does not retract his request. There is some heaviness in his chest and he wishes to have a few moments of silence for himself.  

 

“Alright, I’ll see you later then,” she says eventually then turns to follow her waiting teammate.

 

Tom inhales deeply once he is left alone, stretches his neck and relocates himself into a quieter spot in the club where he is no longer in the center of the lounge. When he grabs a bottle of water from one of the tables, he recognizes a familiar figure slowly walking over to him from the corner of his eye.

 

_ There he is. _

 

Tom takes a large sip of water from the bottle and swallows it in small portions, carefully placing the bottle back onto the table and turning around to face the man.

 

Chris takes the last step to face Tom, both of his hands in his pockets, his face still unreadable, yet no longer rigid.

 

“I already wished you a happy birthday yesterday, but I suppose right now is an ample opportunity to greet you yet again,” he says. 

 

The illumination around them is tricky, constantly moving, but Tom manages to catch Chris’s blue eyes among the colorful light beams, his jaw and slight stubble on his cheeks. 

 

“If you are expecting me to thank you, you’re in for a disappointment” he says, wishing to repay Chris for their previous chilly welcome encounter and even chillier handshake, an eye for an eye, but his tone comes out quiet and gentle, and Tom knows his heart is not in it, sailing far away from his defiance. 

 

Chris purses his lips and dips his head as if accepting Tom’s intended jab, then exhales and turns to look at Tom again.

 

“Are you having a good time then? Do you like the place?” Chris asks absently, apparently trying to initiate a conversation between them, and Tom chuckles lightly, the heavy knot in his stomach slowly untying.  

 

“I think I like the place, yes. It’s considered to be one of the best clubs in town I believe,” Tom replies, absently gauging Chris’s blue shirt as he slowly relaxes. 

 

When Chris remains silent, Tom lifts his eyes to see him staring downwards at the table right next to them, drumming his fingers on the wood.

 

“You look very handsome tonight,” Chris says, his voice soft yet still audible over the playing music in the background.

 

A flattered smirk comes to Tom’s lips and he quickly covers it with his fingers, fighting back a chuckle.

 

_ He is a darling when he puts his mind to it. _

 

He notices that Chris is watching him, as if waiting for a response, and Tom’s mind remembers.

 

Tenderness and affection, Emma had said. That he should be a gentleman with Chris.

 

And she wants to… to meet Chris someday, Tom thinks, and with his own heartbeat loud in his ears, he takes a single step forward, leaving only a small gap between him and Chris.

 

_ No one will notice anything,  _ Tom thinks as he brings his arm around Chris’s neck to pull him close for a quick hug, placing his lips just below Chris’s ear.

 

“And you,” Tom whispers as he presses onto Chris’s shoulder blade,”You are just gorgeous, I can’t take my eyes off you.”

 

Tom only managed to catch the first signs of surprise in Chris’s eyes as he pulled him close, but now he senses the man’s chest lifting in a deep breath, his shoulder muscles tightening under Tom’s arm, and Tom lets his eyes fall shut, briefly pressing Chris even closer to him, just for a single moment - and releases his hold.

 

Chris’s eyes are glazed and his lips are parted as distance is placed between the two of them again, and Tom laughs through his teeth, amused and unnerved at the same time.

He’s never complimented Chris before.

 

Chris releases a quick, sharp chuckle as well, then brings his fingers to his mouth, lightly touching his lips as in thought.

 

“Do you-”, he says, shifting his palm to point his thumb at the general direction of the club’s back door, “Do you want to go outside for a moment?”

 

Tom smiles and raises his eyebrow - “Outside?” he asks, confused momentarily as he searches Chris’s face for his intention.

 

“Yes, I mean- just outside of the club, perhaps the parking lot even. Only for a few minutes, it’s… it’s nothing serious.” Chris says, pursing his lips as he struggles for his words, and Tom soon understands.

 

_ He wants to talk. He wants to say something to me, alone _ .

 

“Yes, sure - ok, do you want to go now?”, Tom asks through his smile, already sensing some foolish thrill forming inside his belly.

 

Chris smiles back at him, slight tint of pink coloring his cheeks, making Tom want to touch them.

 

“Ok, great, that’s good, um-” Chris says, “You go on, I’ll follow you.”

 

“Hey, Tom! Chris!”

 

They both turn their heads at the voice, and Tom sees a few of their colleagues from the set waving at them to come over to their table. Tiffany is there too, Tom notes to himself, staring right back at him, looking both expectant and curious.

 

“Come on over, have a birthday drink with us!”

 

Tom glances at Chris’s face, and sees that his smile has vanished from his lips, his face turning back to its previous blank expression Tom had seen earlier.

 

“You should go to them,” Chris says, sparing another glimpse to their colleagues’ table then at Tom, burying his hands into his jeans pockets.

 

“You think so,” Tom mutters through his teeth. 

 

Chris is right. Heading out of the club together will look rather suspicious, now that they are under the scrutiny of their friends’ eyes.

 

“I do. If they ask you, tell them I’ll be joining you all at the table later on, alright?”

 

Tom turns his head away from the group’s table, attempting to conceal his annoyed sigh from his friends.

 

“Yeah, fine.”

 

Chris eyes him, barely raising an eyebrow. 

 

“I’ll catch you later Tom,” he says, to which Tom nods but replies none. 

 

He turns away from Chris towards his friends’ table right away. 

 

He wants for once, just for once, not to be the one who’s left behind to wait.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


When Tom sits down at his friends’ table, he is received with a few joyous calls of his name and slaps to his back, and soon enough a tray of drinks is placed in front of him. Tales of gossip and jokes are told or shouted to be overheard above the music, and Tom smiles a little when he recognizes a witty jibe being thrown to the table.

 

“Where did Chris go?” Tiffany asks him after a while.

 

She is wearing that somewhat inquisitive expression again, one that makes Tom feel as if he’s being poked for information, and her question tires him.

 

_ Well, my darling. I was about to find out just that when you all decided to shout at me to come over instead. _

 

“Well, my darling,” Tom says as he hears the other members of a table share a laugh but does not join their cheer.

 

“That, I do not know.”

  
  


\--------------

  
  


It is after almost an hour that Tom decides to leave his friends’ table and excuses himself in favor of a quick trip to the men’s room.

 

He watches his reflection while washing his hands in the sink after relieving himself, and wonders briefly about the pale tint to his face he sees in the mirror. Is this paleness the actual color of his skin, or it is a misimpression created by the strange game of lights playing in the club?

 

The background music has changed, and Tom slows his steps once he exits the men’s room, his eyes wandering as the quieter tone of the music clears his mind from the noise surrounding his friends’ table.

 

Despite his previous declaration, Chris has yet to join to Tom’s friends’ table, and Tom spots him standing alone over the farthest corner of the bar with his back to Tom.

 

He’s felt nothing but foolish after being the first to turn away during their previous conversation, and as he watches Chris’s back hunched over the bar, Tom exhales slowly through his nose, his steps decelerating into a full stop.

 

He glimpses once again at his friends’ table, runs his hand through his hair until his fingers lightly massage the back of his neck, then Tom lets his legs change their course and walk him to the bar’s corner, to carry him towards the man he is after.

 

Chris’s figure is almost completely still as Tom approaches him from behind, and he only briefly touches his palm to Chris’s shoulder as he comes to stand next to him.

 

“Hello.”

 

Chris tilts his head to look at him, and Tom glances to meet his gaze.

 

“May I join you?”

 

Chris stares at him, looking surprised, then clears his throat.

 

“Sure, sure,” he mutters, taking a small sideways step to allow Tom more room to lean his side more comfortably over the bar.

 

There is only silence between them at first, and Tom lets himself settle back, his eyes idly watching the barmen tossing back and forth behind the bar’s partition, serving drinks to some younger, more vocal customers.

 

“Are your friends about to join us as well?” Chris asks him after a while.

 

Tom breaths a small laugh through his nose.

 

“I don’t believe they are, no.”

 

Chris nods his head, then turns to look at Tom.

 

“I see. May I buy you a drink then?”

 

Chris’s face is so serious as he asks this, his cheeks flushed, and Tom notes a half empty glass of what appears to be some sort of whiskey, placed on the bar in front of them.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Tom says, smiling inwardly as the urge to indulge in another one of Chris’s endearing gestures suppresses his mild concern.

 

Chris hums in approval.

 

“What would you like then?”

 

“Hmm,” Tom smirks at him, “surprise me.”

 

Chris chuckles at this, then gestures at the nearby barman to approach him.

 

While Chris leans over and sends a few words to the younger man that Tom cannot make, his attention drifts to Chris’s neck. The first button of his shirt is unbuttoned, and a small expanse of white skin, the beginning of Chris’s chest muscles, is exposed.

 

They haven’t touched each other for weeks, haven’t shared even the smallest of kisses since Chris’s last visit to Tom’s apartment, and Tom does not know when will they have another chance to spend further time in private.

 

_ I miss him. I miss his lips and body. _

 

The barman leaves once Chris is done handing over his order, and he turns his attention back to Tom, his expression still serious, but not stern.

 

“Do you want anything else? Are you thirsty?” he asks mildly, making Tom’s lips curve upwards.

 

Behind them, a few couples are dancing on the wide space of the dance floor along with the mellowing pace of the music, and Tom glances at them swaying, envious.

 

_ I would have kissed him there, right in the middle of the dance floor. Then, I would have asked him to take us home, so we could be alone.  _

 

“I want to ask you for a dance,” Tom says quietly, his eyes still roaming beyond Chris’s shoulder as the words leave his mouth.

 

When Tom returns to look, he sees Chris staring back at him, his eyes a little wide, slowly blinking at him

 

“A dance?” he asks, his bewilderment pulling a small grin onto Tom’s face.

 

“Yes, I would like to dance with you, with me as the lead.”

 

Chris catches Tom’s grin, and his lips slowly pry open, huffing a short laugh then curving into a shy smile of his own.

 

“You want to lead?”

 

“Yes,” Tom says gently, imagining himself holding onto Chris’s waist as he leads their dance - “I am the better dancer between the two of us, and, therefore, I should be the lead.”

 

Chris’s smile narrows a little, his eyes looking over Tom’s face, his neck, then back to the bar while chuckling, warming Tom’s heart.

 

“Fair enough,” he says timidly, ”if that’s what you want.” 

 

The bar tender’s figure approaches them then, before either of them comments any further, and two glasses of a clear brown liquid are placed in front of Chris, one of them which Chris pushes towards Tom.

 

“Two glasses?” Tom asks with a mild frown as he glances at the additional, more than half drunk glass of Whiskey placed on the bar. 

 

“I may need it,” Chris replies idly, then lifts his mostly empty glass towards Tom, looking straight into his eyes.

 

“Here is to you,” he says, and Tom meets the glass with a clink, distancing himself from his concern by telling himself that Chris is a long way from being a boy who needs to be taken care of.

 

They nurse their drinks quietly for a while afterwards, Chris’s excellent choice for whiskey sliding smoothly down Tom’s throat and warming his stomach as he wonders about Chris’s consent for his previous request.

 

They could leave the building for a while, head into one of the secluded alleys behind the club… and dance.

 

Tom pinches his nose and huffs under his palm.

 

_ Ridiculous. _

 

“I have something for you,” Chris announces suddenly, his voice a little rough while staring at his glass, fingers circling the path of its brim.

 

“Oh?” Tom says, intrigued.

 

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs, then reaches into one of his front jeans pockets, pulls his arm back, and places a small, folded paper packet on the bar in front of Tom. 

 

Tom observes the small packet, then reaches to touch the still warm, withered paper with his fingers, his mouth curving into a smile. 

 

A birthday gift.

 

“I wanted to give it to you outside earlier on, and this is as good opportunity as any.”

Tom hums in response, feeling himself growing curious. He picks up the little bag, its weight in his palm sensing like that of a small package of beads. 

 

He steals a glimpse at Chris, seeing him fixedly gazing at the club’s moving scenery, sipping the last drops of his scotch.

 

Tom serves their immediate surroundings, once more making sure that no one he recognizes is standing nearby, then slowly opens the small paper bag and spills its contents into his palm.

 

Tom eyes the object resting between his fingers, and once he recognizes its shape, he inhales sharply through his nose, then closes his fingers over the ornament in his hand.

 

“Chris,” he says, his voice tense.

 

Chris glances at Tom’s face then clears his throat.

 

“This… I wanted you to have something nice. Really nice, that is, for your birthday,” he says quietly, his fingers holding rigidly onto his glass of drink.

 

Carefully, with his lips slightly parted, Tom unclenches his fingers, gradually exposing the small object in his palm.

 

There, on the center of his hand, lies a golden pendant of a galloping horse, its legs formed in a trotting position, tail gliding behind its body and the mane hurtling over the horse’s head, ribbons of imaginary wind carved into it.

 

_ It’s like the horse from my favorite postcard,  _ Tom thinks as his heart beats heavily in his chest _ , the postcard we looked at together when we were sitting on the bed in my room. _

 

“This is gold, isn’t it,” Tom whispers, carefully cupping his palm around the small jewel. 

 

“It is, yes,” Chris says, watching Tom intently.

 

“You… I think I’ve offended you, more than a few times in the recent months,” he pauses, licking his lips. 

 

“The things you sometimes say to me, that- that argument we had the last time I came over to your apartment… You were hurt, because of me, because of what we've been doing, and it won’t leave me,” Chris says and swallows down his throat, his forehead wrinkled in thought.

 

Tom is listening to Chris’s words, enthralled, and memories flash within his mind instantly - of himself, standing in the middle of his own kitchen, eyes teary and finger pointing shakily at the bedroom, of various scathing remarks he had thrown at Chris over the past months-

 

“I’ve never meant to cause you any harm, Tom, Never. Not once. You-”, Chris’s voice falters then, and he picks up his next glass of scotch, sips from it, then places it back on the bar.

 

“You mean a lot to me, and this - I wanted to give this to you.”

 

Utterly speechless, Tom stares at the jewel resting in his hand, at the thin golden necklace the horse pendant is tied to, and closes his fingers over it, feeling the metal warming under his skin.

 

Chris’s gift is nothing short of breathtaking.

 

“Chris, this is beautiful,” Tom mutters weakly, his mouth growing dry.

 

Chris turns his head from his glass to look at him, a genuine, content smile gracing his lips. 

 

“Yeah? You like it?”

 

The question stirs something in Tom.

 

“Whether I like it?” he mutters to himself.

 

This is probably the most beautiful gift Tom has ever received, and the fact that he needs to hide his pleasure, that he can’t thank Chris the way he wants to - makes him both angry and excited at the same time.

 

No. This is just too special to go amiss-

 

“Do you want to go outside for a few minutes?”

 

Chris considers his words, his index finger tapping the bar.

 

“Right now, you mean?” 

 

Tom nods at him. 

 

“Yes-,”

_ I want to kiss you, to tell you how much I- _

 

“I wish to be alone with you.”

 

Chris pauses at this, his eyes traveling from Tom’s face down to his torso, until he gives a small nod with his chin.

 

“Sure, yes, I’ll come,” he says, reaching to pull out his wallet outside of his pocket in order to pay for their drinks.

 

Tom watches him, a closed lipped smirk stretching his face as he straightens up until they face each other, and Chris asks him to lead the way.

 

“Alright,” Tom mutters to himself, scanning their environment for the shortest, most comfortable path they could take on their way outside of the building, and sees the side margin of the dancefloor as a potential route.

 

“Let’s go,” Tom says, gesturing with his chin to Chris to follow him.

 

With the small pendant sensing somehow soft between his fingers as he holds onto it, Tom leads the way with Chris trailing behind him, his previously hidden smirk now showing some teeth as he walks to the further side of the dancefloor.

 

The low rumble of strangely slow rhythm music is deafening Tom as he passes between people, the constant movement of colorful light beams blurring his mind but the thought of finding the exit door, and it is then that he feels a hand coming to hold onto his upper arm, stopping him from walking any further. 

 

Tom grunts in despair.

 

_ No, no, just a few minutes alone with him, that’s all I want. _

 

“Tom? Where are you going?”

 

Upon recognizing the voice, Tom instinctively pushes Chris’s gift into his trousers pocket. 

 

Turning to look at Tiffany, Tom sees her watching him, her eyebrows furrowed in question, and her friend, Anna, standing behind her - watching him and Chris with those big, foolish eyes of hers.

 

“Didn’t you go to the bathroom? We were waiting for you back in the table,” Tiffany says, then turns her eyes to Chris.

 

“For you too, Chris.”

 

_ Leave him out of this _ , Tom thinks with a surge of protectiveness, and he lays his hand on Tiffany’s shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. 

 

“We were going nowhere, Tiff, just walking around the dancefloor so we won’t have to squish through the crowd.”

 

There is something different in her stare tonight, Tom thinks as he looks at her. She’s thirsty for his attention, needy and inquiring.

 

“I see. So, do you want to come to the table with us?” she asks, then turns to look at Chris.

 

“And you, Chris? Will you join us this time?” 

 

Holding his breath, Tom glances behind him. Chris’s face are as blank as they can get.

 

“Not at the moment, thank you,” Chris replies evenly, “I might join you later on.”

 

“Ok, sure,” Tiffany replies, curiosity apparent on her face.

 

“Alright then, you go and have fun. I will come and meet you,” Chris mumbles under his breath, and without another word, walks away.

 

It is the sensation of Tiffany’s hand coming to hold onto his that pulls Tom back into focus.

 

“Were you with him all this time?”

 

Feeling his body slack and his muscles loose, Tom nods quietly. He is too flustered to lie any further.

 

“Yea, I was.”

 

Silence passes between them as they both stare in the direction of Chris’s departure, until Tiffany laces their fingers together.

 

Absently, Tom notices that Anna, Tiffany’s friend, is no longer within sight.

 

“How about that dance we talked about earlier?” she asks him.

 

_ A dance _ .  _ Not with him, but with her. _

 

He turns to look into Tiffany’s eyes, her fingers grazing over his own, and Tom’s heart speaks to her, knocking against his ribs like a thrashing child.

 

_ Why are you doing this? I have so little time with him, our moments together so sparse, can’t you see? _

 

With no comfort to offer to himself, Tom lets his eyes fall shut and eases his forehead onto Tiffany’s, needing to rest.

 

“Yes, ok,” Tom says, licking his lips.

 

“Let’s dance.”

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  


Their dance is comfortable and peaceful, her arms wrapped around his neck and his own draped over her waist, both swaying slowly along with the slow tune.

 

Tom listens to the soft playing music in the background as he watches their dancefloor companions behind Tiffany’s shoulders, his thoughts far and his body too slack for emotion.

 

It is when Tiffany kisses him languidly, straight on the mouth, that Tom is rattled out of his distanced mind.

 

He is reawakened with a sensation that makes him feel resentment against himself, a sensation that insists that by kissing this lady, he is, in fact, cheating someone else.

 

\-----------------

 

When Tom leads Tiffany back to their table, they both discover that most of the previous table members aren’t present around the table anymore.

 

Soon enough, though, they meet up with Anna and one of Tom’s colleagues who initiate an easy conversation with them.

 

It is a few minutes later that Tom feels a tap to his shoulder. When he turns his head, he sees Chris looking back at him, then at Tom’s small circle of friends, all while wearing a peculiar smile on his face.

 

Not just peculiar, Tom thinks as he takes Chris’s face and his rigid posture a moment longer - but a fake one.

 

“I came to say good night, Tom, I better get going,” he says, causing Tom’s jaws to stiffen immediately.

 

Tom simply looks at him, a sense of stillness growing in his chest.

 

“You’re leaving?”

 

Chris looks into Tom’s eyes and exhales, looking tired.

 

“Yes, I should go.”

 

Hindered from speaking freely in front of the rest of the group, Tom can only stare at the man, unable to understand.

 

_ Why are you leaving like this? As if nothing? _

 

Removing his gaze from Tom, Chris turns to the others.

 

“It was a pleasure meeting everyone,” Chris addresses the small circle, extending his arm to Tom’s colleague, then adds two curt yet dignified nods at Tiffany and Anna.

 

“Why are you leaving so soon Chris? Is something wrong?” Tiffany asks him, her tone inquisitive again, and Chris only purses his lips, clearly uncomfortable with her question.

 

“Not at all. I have other obligations at home, that is all,” he answers her, and Tiffany nods at him and leans over and kisses his cheek, to which Chris responds with another tight smile, then turns to face Tom again.

 

“Good night Tom.” 

 

“Good night,” Tom replies, his voice steady only as a pretense, and without any further prompt, Chris turns back and takes his leave, melding into the human collection of people swaying on the dancefloor.

 

Whether it is the second, or perhaps third time Tom watches this man disappearing into the crowd tonight, he does not know anymore.

 

“What is it with you two tonight?” 

 

As if in slow motion, Tom shifts his eyes to Tiffany as she speaks.

 

His face is schooled into blankness, just as he feels within, yet Tom is biting down a stinging urge to scowl at her.

 

Those speculative questions she keeps asking him about Chris, those unnerving comments about him, what is it with her?

 

Did she say anything that bothered Chris tonight? Did she somehow make him feel uncomfortable?

 

_ He left so abruptly _ , Tom thinks as he reaches his palm into his pocket, searching for his horse pendant until he comes to hold it in his hand, feeling the horse’s small legs marking his skin like blunt-headed needles.

 

“There is nothing about the two of us,” Tom hears himself saying through his teeth, “Chris is a big boy, Tiff, let him make his own calls.”

 

Inhaling some air, he pauses to collect his calm after this, but his attempt is useless. Tom’s body is jittery, edging with uneasiness. 

 

_ Damn that idiot. It can’t be like this, I can’t let this happen. _

 

Tiffany tells him something in response that is lost on him, and shortly after, the group’s conversation is renewed.

 

Tom listens to their words as a minute passes, then another, yet their chatter barely reaches his ears.

 

There is an itch to Tom’s throat then, as he is struggling with himself to stay put, to be attentive and present in the occurring exchange, but the itch is growing into a burn, and Tom brings his palm to cover his mouth.

 

He coughs once, then twice, throaty and dry, and he shakes his head, understanding that not for the first time, his body is rebelling against his more sensible decisions.

 

_ Get out of here. Get out. _

 

Tom clears his throat and regains his voice, absently noticing the club’s background music is rapidly changing yet again, only, this time, the rhythm is picking up, constantly increasing. 

 

“Tiff, my friends,” Tom says with a friendly smile, “I am afraid I must excuse myself into the men’s room yet again. I shall be back shortly, with a drink in hand.”

 

“Oh, ok,” Tiffany replies, a little surprised, “It’s that cough again, isn’t it? ”

 

“Indeed. I’ll find you when I am back in the lounge,” Tom says, then leaves their little circle.

 

Tom makes his way through club’s guests, nudging a path between the dancers on the dancefloor, the rising beat of the music pulsing along the pace of his own heart.

 

He can see the men’s room from the corner of his eye, but it is not there he is heading to, and Tom hurries further on.

 

When the hostess sees him nearing her location, the club’s back exit, she beams at him, then asks whether he is enjoying his evening.

 

“I am, it’s brilliant,” Tom says, giving her a heated smile, thanking the guard who pulls open the heavy door for him as steps out of the club, grunting as the cool night’s air hits his figure, a contrast to the club’s high temperature.

 

“And it just keeps getting better,” he whispers.

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


After the security man who is positioned at the nearest corner of the club informs him he’d seen Chris walking towards the parking lot, Tom follows his directions, his lips swiftly turning cold and his nose becoming sniffy with the dry, cool breeze.

 

His steps are brisk and hurried, his palm buried in his pocket, holding tightly onto the pendant lest it falls out while his eyes are scanning the environment as he walks, searching for a man under the black night sky.

 

“Just look at me, look at me chasing you like a stupid pet,” Tom mutters under his breath as he enters the wide parking lot area.

 

His breath is expanding into faint steam in front of his eyes as he turns his head from side to side, feeling like an utter fool, though Tom’s legs are insistent, walking him forward on and on.

 

When he sees a figure walking ahead of him, Tom squints and quickens his pace. 

 

He’d recognize this person’s back anywhere.

 

“Chris! Wait!”

 

The figure halts its pace immediately, and turns sideways, searching for the voice’s origin, until it finally looks at Tom’s direction, revealing Chris’s face.

 

Chris remains motionless as Tom closes the distance between them, his face sealed and his arms stuffed into his coat’s pockets

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Tom comes to stand in front of him, catching his breath, already sensing irritated at the man’s indifferent tone.

 

“Why did you leave like this? Couldn't you have waited just a few more minutes and give us a chance to say goodnight properly and not as if we’re two damn near by strangers?”

 

Chris’s chest rises in a deep breath, eyebrows drawn together as his eyes are wandering around the parking lot.

 

“You were busy with your friends. I did not want to be poking your shoulder while you were hanging with them.”

 

Tom narrows his eyes at him.

 

“Don’t drop this on me, Chris. I would have found the right way to give us a moment alone, but you didn’t even give me a bloody chance.”

 

Chris returns Tom’s gaze, his eyes still empty, so empty, his mouth pursed into a thin, colorless line while he inhales through his nose.

 

“Look, Tom,” he says, lifting his his hand to run it over his nose, “You know what, you’re right.”

 

“But this - this is not the right time. I’ll call you tomorrow or something, and you can tell me what a careless bastard I am all you want, ok?”

 

Tom feels his own eyes widen at the words.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Chris grunts in frustration, and Tom swiftly looks around them, making sure they are still alone. Just beside them, he notes, there is a concrete wall leading into a small, darkened niche.

 

“So no phone calls?” Chris asks, dropping his arm from his face, “What do you want then? Would you like to stand out here and continue to gawk and scowl at me until the sun comes out? Should I come back into the club and watch you chirping with your friends then give each of you a ride home when you feel like you’ve had enough of this place?”

 

Tom listens to Chris’s words in disbelief, almost baring his teeth at him as anger grips him.

 

“What?”

 

That little son of a bitch.

 

He should walk away, leave Chris to continue to crawl in his own dirt, but that pendant, that lousy gift, it is lying heavy in his pocket, keeping Tom’s legs rooted to the spot.

 

He is not sure which impulse is driving him on, he hasn’t used physical force on anyone for years, but Tom’s limbs are burning with intensity and frustration, and he reaches to grab the Chris’s arm and pulls him closer, his mouth ready to shoot back.

 

Chris pants under Tom’s sudden grip and he tries to pull away and place that distance between them again, a move which only inflames Tom’s exasperation further.

 

All he knows is that he’s had enough.

 

Acting under pure instinct, Tom tightens his hold on Chris’s arm and uses his weight to pull both of them forward into the isolated niche, bringing the two of them to stand against each other in the semi-darkness as Chris tries to grab Tom’s assaulting arm.

 

Tom’s mouth opens, set to launch at the man, but then he pauses. 

 

Chris’s body is swaying under his grip, his half hooded eyes are fluttering, and his heavy breaths are emitting a strong scent of alcohol that reaches Tom’s nose.

 

_ He’s half drunk, that punk,  _ Tom thinks furiously and squeezes onto Chris’s forearm.

 

“How dare you, Chris, how dare you give this gift to me, that piece of gold, then leave as if I am one your bloody admirers, one of those useless friends you hardly notice?”

 

Tom releases Chris’s arm and grips the front of his shirt, the memories rushing through his mind, of that awful, icy handshake Chris greeted him with at the beginning of the evening, the weight of that maddening little horse in his palm, and Chris’s eyes as he looked at Tom seeing his gift for the first time.

 

“Do I look like a toy to you, Chris? Like someone, or perhaps even something, that you can toss around with?”

 

There is a twitch in Chris’s eyes then, his face contorting as if in pain, and Tom’s throat tightens at the sight.

 

He releases Chris’s shirt then presses his fist against his chest, applying a small, insistent push at him as the warmth of Chris’s body soaks through Tom’s fingers.

 

“Answer me.”

 

Chris swallows down his throat, gazing at Tom as they are both breathing heavily, the steam of their breaths evaporating above their heads.

 

Tom is about to prompt him again, but then Chris speaks. 

 

“I couldn't watch you with her anymore, alright?” he says slowly and Tom listens carefully, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.

 

“Seeing you kissing her, dancing with her, holding hands with her - I couldn't handle it.”

 

Tom grinds his teeth together, feeling the wind being knocked out of his sails of anger, then releases a low grunt into the air.

 

Of course, of course this is the case. Perhaps Tom even knew this in the back of his head, but couldn’t bring himself to admit it.  

 

Softly, Tom knocks his fist on Chris’s chest with a low thump.

 

“You are a selfish prick.”

 

Chris only looks deep into his eyes, barely responding to Tom’s touch.

 

“Yes. I hurt you again. I am sorry.”

 

The man’s shoulders are slumped, his speech is half slurred, and Tom shakes his head in discontent, Chris’s admission bringing him no satisfaction at all.

 

Chris shifts his stance a little, then lifts his arm to hold onto Tom’s fisted palm, attempting to pull it away from his chest. 

 

Tom puts some resistance at first, just to make a point, then allows Chris to lower his arm back to its place at his side.  He then touches Tom’s shoulder, and pushes him backwards, putting some distance between them.

 

“You should go back inside and be with her.” 

 

Tom frowns at him, his ire reawakened both by the cold dismissal and Chris physically pushing him away.

 

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

 

Chris averts his eyes to behind Tom’s shoulder, sighing.

 

“She had organized this party for you, this whole evening even, and so you should be with her.”

 

Tom chuckles bitterly, folding his arms over his chest. This is their first and only true opportunity to be alone tonight, and Chris is sending him away.

 

“So is that how it is then? You stomp away if you are not happy with what you see, but if you believe that something is the moral thing to do, you suddenly like her again?”

 

Chris tilts his head, and it is his turn to narrow his eyes at Tom.

 

“Like her?” he says in a low tone, and Tom shivers despite himself.

 

“Do you know what will happen the next time she meets me on a talk show interview’s set?” he asks, and Tom furrows his eyebrows, confused.

 

“This lady will approach me, verify that day’s schedule with me, and then, when the business talk is done, she will ask me about you, Tom, about you,” he continues, leaning towards Tom, his posture no more slump, but tense and blatant.

 

“She will probably go as far as asking me if everything is ok between the two of us after what she saw tonight. Do you know how those questions makes me feel Tom, when I know that this very lady kisses and touches you? Can you see what I mean?”

 

Tom stares at the man’s taut face while he talks, the slur gone from his speech, and thinks that this is not the first time that Chris mentions Tiffany’s inquiries.

 

And tonight, her questions to Tom about Chris, theses strange, investigating-like looks she gave him, those grating little phrases she spoke to Chris… Tom sucks in a breath as he thinks about this.

 

She knows nothing about what has been happening between him and Chris, he is certain about it, but her behavior both bewilders and angers him. 

 

“Rest assured, I hold no fondness for her, but she is your girlfriend, and you should go and be with her during this evening she had set up for you,” Chris says tiredly.

 

Tom snaps his head to look at him. 

 

“She is not my girlfriend Chris,” he spits at the man and regrets it immediately. He sounds like a petulant child.

 

Chris shakes his head slowly at Tom, then reaches with his palm to rub over his eyes.

 

“Why are you saying this? You are lying both to her and yourself. You should respect her as much as you can if you want to maintain the peace between you two. That lady is smart, Tom. You should- ” he pauses, then sighs audibly.

 

The words sink like stones into Tom’s stomach, deflating him from any remaining sense for a confrontation.

 

Nothing hurts worse than the truth, especially coming from Chris, who is far more intelligent than he sometimes leads others to believe.

 

“I am sorry Tom, this is your birthday party, I did not mean to disappear like this,” Chris says, removing the hand from his face and lowering his eyes to the ground.

 

A flow of cool, dry wind glides through the walls, and without his coat, Tom coughs and shivers under the cold.

 

Chris tilts his head upwards at the gruff sound, takes a step towards Tom and touches his shoulder.

 

“What’s wrong? Why are you coughing like this? Are you cold?”

 

Chris’s voice is gentle and affectionate, not slurry nor tired anymore, and Tom feels his body slackening, wanting to embrace that tenderness.  

 

Resigned, he pushes his palms into his trousers pockets, cups his pendant, and takes the remaining step to Chris, coming to stand flush against him. 

 

Slowly, Tom rubs his nose against Chris’s cheek, inhaling his scent.

 

Chris’s chest rises in a deep breath, and then those large, strong arms come to hold Tom, pulling him closer and running back and forth from his shoulder blades down to his lower back, and Tom whimpers softly into their embrace.

 

“Tom, you’re shivering.”

 

Despite the faint odor of alcohol, Chris’s scent is soothing and by now - familiar. Tom releases the pendant and removes his hands from his pockets, carefully placing them on Chris’s waist, pressing his palms into the man’s hard flesh. 

 

It has been so long since their last encounter, and what Tom wants from Chris is not an apology.

 

“You told me last week your family is flying to Europe this week, was it true?”

 

A moment passes before Chris replies.

 

“Yes, they are flying to Spain this following Tuesday.”

 

Tom licks his lips, pressing his cheek to Chris’s.

 

“Do you want to come over then?” he whispers, the sense of guilt burning within him, “spend the night, and- stay until the morning.”

 

Chris does not answer right away, his arms covering Tom’s back halting their gentle rub, and Tom musters his patience, waiting for his response.

 

“Yes, I can come,” he says, and Tom releases his held breath. 

 

Content, Tom kisses his cheek. The semi-darkness around them has become pleasant by now, placating a soothing sense of privacy, and slowly, he draws himself back, trailing his nose along Chris’s face until their mouths are close enough, and Tom kisses him.

 

Tom manages to touch their lips for a moment, but then Chris’s hold turns rigid around him, and Chris breaks away their kiss, turning his face away with a low grunt.

 

“I can’t,” Chris says stiffly, and Tom freezes in place, startled.

 

“What?”

 

Chris makes a strangled sound, a low rumble in the back of his throat.

 

“I can’t- you are with her tonight, not with me. I need to calm down.” 

 

Tom listens to the words, unable to think.

 

They serve like a knife to the heart.

 

Unwrapping his arms from Chris’s neck, Tom brings two fingers to his sternum, and presses down hard enough to push himself back, wanting Chris to feel it deep in his chest.

 

“You self-serving bastard, I should punch you right in your face,” Tom bites at him.

 

He hears nothing but Chris’s deep breathing at the following moments, until there is a low friction noise from the floor as Chris shifts on his legs.

 

“Tom,” he says quietly, “I feel this is the right time for me to leave. Forgive me.”

 

Tom nods, exhausted.

 

“Thank you for the gift,” he murmurs.

 

Chris inhales deeply, then carefully reaches with his hand to Tom’s forearm and gives it a warm squeeze.

 

“It was my pleasure. When I saw it for the first time, I thought it looked as wild and beautiful as you are, and I decided to get it for you,” Chris says, running his thumb over Tom’s flesh.

 

“I’ll call you, ok?”

 

Tom nods at him, not wishing to speak, and after a soft good night, Chris turns to walk along the concrete wall, heading back towards the parking lot.

 

Tom follows his steps after shortly afterwards, only he takes the opposite turn as he makes his way back to the club.

 

When he finds a quiet spot located just a few meters from the club’s entrance, Tom halts his steps and leans his back against the cold wall behind him.

 

His throat is crowded, his chest is heavy, and there is some moisture in his eyes he is trying to push back down.

 

_ How difficult it is to be gentle with him, to be patient,  _ Tom thinks as he breathes deeply, trying to calm himself.

 

_ How he gets to me every time, how I am ticked into anger in a single moment by his behavior, lashing at him like this. _

 

Tom watches the night sky, the stars, his own reddened palms, until he feels he’s regained his voice to be steady enough to speak, and straightens up from the wall.

 

Wearing her shiny grin, the hostess greets Tom again at the club’s entrance, seemingly happy to have him coming back into the club.

 

Tom returns the gesture as best as he can, the small golden horse like a small plummet of comfort in his pocket.

 

He makes his way to the lounge, this time only watching the dance floor, not wanting to be a part of it, and the music finds the same rhythm as his heart again - quick but constant.

 

_ And how I still want him in my bed every, single, night. _

  
  


\--------------

  
  


She is not sure whether it’s something in his walk, a single hand shoved into his pocket,  or that unusual, sated look in his eyes, but Tiffany feels that something is amiss no longer than mere moments after Tom sits down next to her along the table.

 

“Hey Tiff, Anna”, Tom greets them both.

 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Tiffany asks, noticing now, up close, the strangely pale shade of Tom’s face, along with reddish spots coloring his high cheeks.

 

On an instinct, Tiffany reaches to hold onto Tom’s fingers, gasping as she senses how icy cold they are.

 

“Tom, your hands are freezing! You… Have you been outside?”

 

Tom turns to look at her.

 

“Yes, I have. I needed some air.”

 

_ Some air? In this midnight cold weather? _

 

There is a distant expression showing on Tom’s face, one that Tiffany has already seen before, and a thought occurs to her.

 

“Were you talking to Chris?”

 

It was so odd, the way Chris had left the party, and Tom had excused himself shortly after his departure.

 

And Tom’s eyes. They are so very... thoughtful.

 

“Well Tiff, yes. I was,” he says, his finger restlessly tapping the table,  “Are we ok?”

 

Tiffany holds back her frown. Patience. 

 

He’s handsome, Tom. And attractive as well, charming everyone, including herself, with his sharp wit and cheeky smile.

 

Her interest had been piqued on the very first time she had laid her eyes on him. 

 

Tom is definitely worth the chase, has always been, of that - Tiffany is certain.

 

But her intuition is unsettled, has been poking her for quite some time, and she feels… suspicious.

 

There is just something queer about how they sometimes behave around each other, how Tom so relentlessly seeks for Chris’s company, how Chris turns rigid or quick to disappear upon seeing Tom, or even upon being asked about him.

 

And when she is with Tom, there are those short yet prominent periods of time when Tom is so quiet and pensive- even while being intimate in bed.

 

Tiffany chooses not to answer Tom’s question at the moment.

 

Instead, she gestures at his hand.

 

“I thought you said you’ll get yourself another drink? Did something happen while you two were talking outside?”

 

“No,” Tom replies quickly, too quickly, to her question, “I needed some fresh air, I met him nearby the parking lot, I made sure everything was ok with him, and I came back.”

 

Tiffany searches his face.

 

He is being honest, but that tinge of red to his eyes… What is he thinking about?

 

“Tiff,” Tom says, covering her hand with his.

 

“We just talked. You’ve set up a wonderful evening here for me. Can I buy you a late night drink?”

 

His touch and compliment reminds her how fond she is of him, reminds her of how she wants them both to be a couple.

 

“Hmm. Ok, you pick something then,” she says, accepting a small peck of lips on her temple from him, then initiates one kiss of her own to his still too cold lips.

 

Their drinks are served a few minutes later, and Tiffany discovers her drink to be a nicely designed glass containing a special liquor she’s never heard of before, colored purple - which is her favorite color.

 

Oh Tom. How sweet this guy is. She’s proud of herself for getting him to be interested in her. 

 

They are not officially together, but they might be.

Time passes, and Tom doesn’t say much afterwards, nursing his own drink in relative silence.

 

Tiffany watches him out of the corner of her eye, how pensive he appears to be yet again.

 

Tom was telling the truth about his chat with Chris, she ponders to herself, but he was hiding something as well.

 

Something meaningful.

 

_ Be it what it may.  _

 

_ I will know what it is. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You give me the wings to fly, you are the clear blue sky.  
> I'm floating so free, so high.  
> Falling with grace - for you and I...
> 
>  
> 
> [ The Wings - Brokeback Mountain OST](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qzMsJ-tmJY)
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. - If you are wondering what Tom's gift pendant may look like, you can see it [ here](http://ellurian.tumblr.com/image/137169224575)  
> 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun  
> Shine on you crazy diamond  
> You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon  
> Shine on you crazy diamond  
> Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light  
> Shine on you crazy diamond
> 
> Come on you raver, you seer of visions,  
> Come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!
> 
>  
> 
> [Pink Floyd - Shine On You Crazy Diamond](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0sw2CgysWY)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> Warnings for this chapter - None.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The air inside the building is a sharp contrast to the cool winds blowing outside, it warms him immediately, and Chris shivers in relief as he closes the door behind him.

 

He pulls the wool hat off his head, then wipes the drops of rain from his face with the back of his palm, looking around the lobby until he spots a figure of a man approaching him with a smile.

  
“Chris, good afternoon, I’m glad you made it on time,” the man greets him, he said on the phone that his name is Anthony, and Chris accepts his handshake.

 

“Come on, I’ll take you to the studio rooms.”

 

“Great, thank you.”

 

Chris follows the representative into an elevator, catching his breath as they are escalated to the higher levels of the building.

 

“I am taking you now to the main studio, where we will carry out all of the interviews today. Once we get there, I’ll send Mona to attend you. She will get you dressed and all settled before it’s time for the cameras to start shooting.”

 

“I’m all yours,” Chris replies as he leans his back against the metallic wall of the lift.

 

“Tom, Jamie, and the others - they are all in there by now,” Anthony continues, “They’ve already gone through some interviews. We’ll get you sorted and you’ll be ready to join them in the later slots.”

 

Chris hums his agreement at the man, and the silence is kept between them until the elevator ceases its ride and opens its doors - allowing voices of human chatter along with some faint scents of makeup and studio’s synthetic setting into the small cell.

 

Anthony, while making a phone call, leads Chris to one of the corners of the unfamiliar set, then turns his attention back to Chris.

 

“There, I’ve just spoken to Mona. She’ll come around to meet you here in just a few minutes,” Anthony informs him, then reaches for another handshake.

 

“Chris, you have my number. Don’t hesitate to call me should any trouble arise.”

 

Chris takes the man’s hand.

 

“Thank you, Anthony, I appreciate that.”

 

As Anthony departs, Chris looks around the studio room, taking his surroundings.

 

In one of the corners of the studio, sitting in a high chair behind a camera, Chris spots Jamie. Though the cameras don’t seem to be running yet, she seems to be conversing with the a reporter who is standing in front of her.

 

The reporter pulls a small notebook from his pocket, uses his pen to scribble something on the paper, then appears to be thanking Jamie with a smile.

 

When the reporter moves aside, another high seat is revealed to be positioned next to Jamie, and that seat is occupied as well.

 

Sitting in that chair with his arms folded over his chest, is Tom.

 

At the sight of him, Chris blinks, his back becoming rigid.

 

He dares a momentary observation, taking Tom’s form and his attire, his face which is schooled into attention - and walks backwards until he feels he is hidden from Tom and Jamie’s sight.

 

He is not ready to make eye contact with Tom, not yet. 

 

The only communication they had shared since Tom’s birthday party had transpired through a phone call Chris initiated during the previous day. 

 

Bewilderment and restlessness have been gnawing on Chris’s stomach even since he had returned to his home after that night in the club, a fact which had turned their conversation to be short and terse, leaving Chris to stare at his mobile device for long moments after the conversation had ended with a quiet goodbye.

 

Chris had wanted to call again, to dial Tom’s number and try and speak once more - but his mind offered him no words, no knowledge of how to deal with his own disquiet.

 

He had wished to offer Tom his birthday gift while being alone with him, had imagined himself going as far as wearing that necklace around Tom’s neck and kissing him afterwards, holding him close under the night sky.

 

Seeing Tom dancing with his lady instead, not being able to do anything about it, to keep Tom at his side, Chris had felt as if he was being taunted by a vicious flame flickering too close to his body, burning both his skin and his lungs.

 

Tom had invited him to his apartment tonight, yet not a word had been exchanged about the topic since that clash they had faced in that dubious alcove near by the club’s parking lot.

 

How should he initiate a conversation with Tom now? What is Chris supposed to talk about after Tom had said he wanted to punch his face?

 

Are they still planned to meet tonight for that sleep-over Tom offered to him?

 

Chris lifts his arm and massages the back of his neck, sighing to himself.

 

He’d slept with Tom, had kissed him more than a few times, and yet - he has no idea at how to evaluate that tricky Brit’s mood.

 

At the sound of heels tapping floor, coming at his direction, Chris straightens up.

 

“Mr. Hemsworth?”

 

Chris smiles politely at her.

 

“Yea, hey, how are you. You must be Mona.”

 

The lady smiles back at him, looking elegant and confident.

 

“Yes, I am. It is good to meet you, Chris. Come on, let’s go and get you sorted, shall we?”

 

With a nod, Chris gestures Mona to lead the way, not sneaking even a single glance at Tom and Jaime’s direction as he follows the lady to the dressing rooms.

 

Chris would have never imagined he would be drawn to such a prickly man as Tom, but as reality continues to bite deeper into Chris’s conscious with every passing day, it seems that the combination of Tom’s thorns and his sweetness only causes Chris’s mind to be further occupied with thoughts of him. 

 

He wants to be the one who asks Tom for a dance, the one who takes Tom home after the party is over, but right now, Chris needs a few moments to collect his thoughts before he will be ready to face the man.

 

Just a few more moments.

  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  


“Chris, are you all set? Can we head on with the schedule?”

 

Chris tugs at his shirt’s cuffs one more time, stretching his suit to fit his body more comfortably.

 

“Yeah, I’m ready, tell me what we’re up to.”

 

Anthony sends him a smirk while pulling a piece of folded paper out of his trousers, 

unfolding it as he prepares to read from it.

 

“You’ll share your first interview with Tom Hiddleston,” he informs Chris, “it’s scheduled to start in just a few minutes.”

 

Chris glances at Anthony.

 

“Yeah,” he replies, licking his lips and pinching his nose, “sure. And afterwards?”

 

Anthony hums as he inspects his papers.

 

“You are also scheduled to be interviewed along with Jamie Alexander, and two additional slots are scheduled for your solo interviews.”

 

Chris nods silently, mainly to himself, then straightens up and gestures at Anthony with his chin.

 

“Alright. Show me where I need to go please.”

  
  


\------------

  
  


When Anthony halts his steps in front of a door and comes to hold onto its handle, Chris’s chest rises in a deep breath.

 

Tom is in this room, just behind that door.

 

“The interview should last no more than forty-five minutes. Once you’re finished, I’ll find you and help you to your next appointment,” Anthony says, reaching his hand to push onto the door’s handle.

 

Chris inhales through his nose, pressing his jaws against each other.

 

_ A self-serving bastard _ , Tom had called him.

 

The click of the door’s opening shakes him, and Chris enters the set room, blinking the memory away.

 

A single camera, a staff member and a reporter are standing in the middle of the room. Two high seats are placed against the wall beside a large poster of Thor, and seated onto one of them - is Tom.

 

From his seat, Tom tilts his face, looking at Chris as he enters the room, and for a moment, their eyes lock.

 

Chris breaks their stare almost immediately, maintaining the pace of his steps until he reaches the chair adjacent to Tom’s.

 

“Hello,” Chris says, gingerly taking his seat.

 

“Hey,” Tom answers, hands resting in his lap while looking straight ahead, “How are you.”

 

“I’m alright,” Chris replies lamely, “And you?”

 

Tom nods wordlessly, straightening up in his chair and folding his arms over his chest, still not looking at Chris.

 

“I’m ok,” he says, “nothing out of the ordinary,” and adds nothing more.

 

Chris glances at him, reaching to itch his cheek as he sees how pensive Tom seems to be.

 

Their interview will begin in just a few moments, and Chris is filled with the old frustration at feeling so incompetent in managing a conversation with this man.

 

He wants to add something more, to make Tom look at him, and his mind offers him only a single option for speaking.

 

The truth, Chris has come to learn over the path of the recent months, might appear most daunting, and yet - it’s always there, always concrete in Chris’s heart, and therefore sometimes feels like the easiest thing to say out loud.

 

“It was a poor, snappy little phone call, wasn’t it,” Chris says eventually.

 

Tom turns his head, finally looking at him, and draws his eyebrows together.

 

“What?”

 

Chris eyes the reporter and the cameraman, making sure they are still minding their own business.

 

“Our conversation over the phone- yesterday I mean,” he clarifies.

 

Tom stares at him for a moment, and then - his lips curve into a faint smirk.

 

“Yeah, bothersome business indeed,” he says, then turns his attention back to the preparing staff.

 

Chris observes him, seeing that Tom is considering something, and decides to wait before he attempts to talk again.

 

The reporter approaches both of them just then, shaking hands with each of them.

 

“I’m glad you’re both here, Chris, Tom. Are you two ready? We’ll be good to go in just two minutes.”

 

They both give their assent to the man, and he nods at them with a smile, going back to his other colleague, appearing to be exchanging the last notes between them before releasing to the camera to run.

 

“Tell me,” Tom says suddenly, “Will I be seeing you tonight?”

 

Chris swallows down his throat, unprepared for the blunt question after the long pause of silence between them.

 

Again, all he can think of for an answer is the plain truth.

 

“Well, I suppose so. That’s what we had agreed upon, so - yes.“

 

Tom inspects his face, as if searching for something, or waiting for Chris to say more, and Chris tenses.

 

What is it? Did he miss anything?

 

“Do you want to come at all?” Tom asks him.

 

Chris swallows again, taking another glimpse of the reporter and his cameraman. They are ready, the reporter is just about to approach them once more and begin their interview.

 

The answer is more complicated than a simple yes, and the words won’t come. It is such an unexpected, intimate question - and Chris can’t bring himself to reply while bearing the additional present company.

 

Tom takes a short look at the reporter, pressing his lips together.

 

“This is not a good time, is it,” he mutters, then turns around to face the interview staff, placing his hands neatly in his lap. 

 

Chris opens his mouth in order to ask Tom to finish this later, but then the reporter advances at their direction again, coming to take his seat in front of them while his colleague readjusts the camera to face the two of them - and Chris is forced to remain silent.

 

_ Brilliant, just brilliant. _

 

“Alright boys, let’s make this interview happen, shall we.”

 

Tom clears his throat.

 

“Ask us away, mate,” he says, which Chris resounds with a quiet ‘yeah’ of his own.

 

The camera flashes a momentary beam of light which blinds Chris, and while he is rubbing his eyes in order to clear his vision, he decides to let Tom take the lead with this interview.

 

He always seems to hold so many questions and answers, far more than Chris does, after all.

  
  
  
  


\--------  

  
  
  
  


“Alright boys, I think we have everything I need at the moment. We are done in here,” the reporter says, collecting his notes and small cards back into his bag.

 

The reporter shakes hands with them once more, and Chris removes himself from his chair, following Tom’s movements with his eyes as he stands up from his chair as well.

 

“I’ll see you around then,” Tom murmurs at him, and Chris grunts through his teeth.

 

He wants to have a moment alone with Tom, but the other staff members are still standing too close.

 

He takes his time rearranging his jacket and re-tucking his shirt into his trousers, and when he notices Tom beginning to advance to the room’s door - Chris follows him.

 

Tom reaches the door, and once he steps into the hall, Chris quickens his movements to catch the door behind him, and he speaks.

 

“Hold on a second, Tom, hey.”

 

Tom halts his steps, turning around to face Chris with his eyes slightly narrowed, and Chris feels he knows this look. 

 

Tom won’t help him with this. 

 

“What’s up?”

 

Chris breathes deeply, putting his thoughts in order. 

 

“Look, Tom,” He begins, “the way we parted after your birthday party, how I left, I know- I know it was a mess.”

 

Tom’s taut face relaxes, and Chris knows he has Tom’s attention.

 

_ Go on, say it, it will be fine.  _

 

“But I want to see you, alright?”

 

He does, he wants to see Tom. He wants to share a private evening with him, to sleep with him again, to show up in Tom’s apartment not as a friend, but as a man who pursues him.

 

And yet, spending an entire night together, sleeping in the same bed - the notion is so intimate, and Chris wonders about the consequences of such a deed.

 

Will he get even more attached to Tom than he already is? How will it feel to leave Tom’s apartment after waking up next to him?

 

Will Tom catch him stirring to another stressful dream in the middle of the night? What will Tom think of him after seeing him in such a state for the second time?

 

Tom eyes him carefully.

 

“Well. That’s good to know. I wasn't sure,” he says quietly, but Chris’s attention is torn as footsteps are heard and soon he recognizes Anthony heading towards them from the end of the hall, intending to meet Chris and lead him to his next interview.

 

Tom notices Chris’s lack of response, and he glimpses behind him, following Chris’s line of vision.

 

“He’s coming to get you, isn’t he,” he states blankly, appearing distant, but Chris senses there’s more that Tom won’t say. 

 

The abrupt cut off to their conversation bothers Tom, he is sure of it, and Chris imagines himself stepping closer, smoothing the line of Tom’s jaw and kissing his cheek, promising that he will make it up to him later.

 

“Yes, but Tom,” Chris says, resolute upon reassuring his willingness to him, “I will come over tonight, alright?” 

 

Tom only gestures his wordless agreement with his chin, and Chris has no choice but to start moving forward to meet Anthony as he continues to approach them.

 

“I have to go now Tom, I will find you and we’ll talk some more,”  Chris says, unwilling to let Anthony come to too close when he is standing next to Tom. This is personal.

 

Tom nods once.

 

“I will see you later, Chris,” he says softly.

 

“You will,” Chris replies, holding Tom’s eyes as he passes him.

 

Anthony welcomes Chris with another smile, leading him to his next appointed location. Chris trails after him down the halls, shaking his head as he berates himself for not being more patient. He could have found a more appropriate time to talk with Tom and finish their conversation properly. 

 

_ You should do a great deal better than this, than walking away from him like a reckless boy _ .

 

Chris nods mutedly, Anthony’s words lost among the general chatter of the room.

 

He wants to give Tom so much more.

  
  


\-----------------

 

 

Chris does not always get what he wants, though.

 

The rest of the interviews require more time than they should, and as the hours pass, he is not left with more than mere minutes between each appointment for him to find Tom for a few words in private. 

 

When his last interview is completed and Tom is still not within sight, Chris exhales rather loudly to himself and heads to his designated dressing room, intending to replace his suit with something more comfortable.

 

The thought of Tom leaving without saying goodbye before their meeting tonight was a disquieting one, and Chris tries to drive it out of his mind, not wanting to ponder too much what such a behavior might mean.

 

 

 

\-------------

 

 

He is pulling off his jacket when a knock sounds from the door, and Chris hesitates for a moment, trying to recall whether he’d neglected to finalize anything with any of the present staff members.

 

When he fails to point out anything he has forgotten about, Chris fastens his jeans and asks out loud for the visitor’s identity.

 

“The one and only,” the person behind the door replies cockily, and Chris straightens up immediately.

 

Tom.

 

He hurries to the door and opens it to see Tom leaning on the door jamb, wearing his heavy jacket with his backpack hung over his shoulder.

 

“Do you want to come in?” Chris asks him hastily, not waiting for Tom’s reply as he opens the door and steps backwards, encouraging Tom to enter.

 

“Thank you,” Tom says as he walks into the room, allowing Chris to close the door behind him.

 

When Chris turns to face him, he sees Tom smirking at him as he eyes Chris’s figure from head to toe.

 

Chris looks down at himself, and winces. He looks foolish while wearing his sneakers, his rumpled elegant shirt hanging around his waist, carelessly untucked of his everyday jeans.

 

“Cute,” Tom mutters with a thin smile.

 

“Yeah, well,” Chris says, his face in heat as he uselessly tries to smooth down the hem of his shirt, “I’m glad you came, I could not find you earlier.”

 

Chris pauses then, realizing something as he looks at Tom’s posture.

 

“Are you done in here? On your way back to your flat?”

 

Tom purses his lips, putting his hands into his pockets.

 

“Yeah, I’m on my way out to catch a taxi,” he replies, looking around the room and finally at Chris.

 

“And you? Are you heading out as well?”

 

Chris nods at him.

 

“I need to finalize a few more details with Anthony, and afterwards I’ll be free to go,” he replies, inhaling some air as he organizes his words, then -” and I’ll meet you later, in your place, yeah?”

 

Tom hums his agreement, appearing to consider Chris’s words while leaning his back against the door, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“When should I be expecting you then?”

 

Chris reaches to his jeans back pocket, retrieves his cell phone and quickly tries to calculate the time of his arrival.

 

“It’s almost half past six, so, um, I think I’ll be able to show up in your flat around ten thirty, eleven pm at most. Is that ok?”

 

Tom directs his eyes at him, drawing his eyebrows together, and Chris clenches fingers around his mobile.

 

No, it is not ok. Something is wrong.

 

“Eleven pm?”, Tom repeats, his eyes narrowing.

 

“I thought that we would- ugh” he concludes with a grunt, “May I ask for why do we have to meet so late?”

 

Chris stares at him, disconcerted while taking in Tom’s sudden frustration.

 

“Well, I- I want to take a shower in my apartment, grab something to eat before I show up,-”

 

He hopes to sleep with Tom tonight, to have him, and he does not know how the evening will mature, he is never sure how to interpret the changing dynamics between them, but if they do get intimate - Chris wants to be clean, look presentable, and not be bothered by some nagging hunger.

 

“A shower?” Tom asks him, cocking his head incredulously.

 

“Chris, you can take one in my place, and about dinner - it’s all manageable.”

 

Chris dips his mobile back into his pocket, breathing deeply.

 

They could have discussed this yesterday, but that phone conversation was so short and unclear, he wasn’t sure whether they would meet today at all, and now he feels ridiculous.

 

“Would you like me to order some food in? Or would you rather that I will make us something to eat?”

 

_ I am not a big fan of take-away food, _ Chris almost tells him, and when he realizes what that might mean, he looks at Tom, his cheeks warm.

 

“You can cook?”

 

Tom hums, then chuckles softly.

 

“Well, I guess you’ll have to taste it to believe it, huh,” he says, then wrinkles his forehead, as if thinking.

 

“Will some pasta with some meat sauce suit your taste?”

 

An uncontainable smile spreads on Chris’s lips.

 

“Whatever you’ll make is great,” he mutters through his curved lips.

 

“Brilliant answer,” Tom says, laughing now as well, running his palm across his jaw.

 

Silence settles between them after their soft laughter dies, and Chris senses the air  becoming thicker between them, rising an urge from his belly to step closer to Tom, kiss him perhaps, but he restrains it.

 

_ I can’t approach him now _ , he thinks, feeling uncomfortable when Anthony or any other person might barge into the room at any given moment.

 

Tom shifts his stance, as if readying himself to say something, but a vibration noise from his cell phone stops him.

 

“I have to take this one,” Tom grumbles as he looks at the device’s screen, and for a fleeting moment Chris wonders if the person who is calling Tom is Tiffany.

 

Sensing suddenly out of focus, he turns around, giving his back to Tom, blinks rapidly and shakes his head. 

 

_ No. Not now. _

 

He grabs his jacket  and starts pulling it over his arms. He’ll be replacing his elegant shirt with a plain t-shirt once Tom leaves the room, but starts tucking it into his jeans anyway as he turns to face Tom again.

 

“I’m heading out Chris,” Tom says, watching him as his cell phone keeps vibrating in his palm, and Chris gestures at him with his chin.

 

“Tell your cabbie to drive safely, I’ll see you later.”

 

Tom readjusts his backpack over his back, pulls the door open, and after a final look into Chris’s eyes, walks out of the room into the hall.

 

The room is very quiet once Tom leaves it, and Chris releases a hacked breath into the air.

 

He removes his jacket for the second time in the recent hour, unbuttons his shirt, pulls it over his head and replaces it with one of the the fresh shirts he placed into his bag this morning.

 

He rearranges his hair in front of the mirror afterwards, re-wears his jacket, then slows down his movements until he comes to stand still - gazing into his own fixed reflection. 

 

_ He wouldn’t have taken that phone call if you had taken your chance, gone and kissed him. _

 

Chris parts his lips, and his mirror duplicate follows his movements, staring back just as hard, heavy and demanding.

 

“Looks like that lady beat you again, little boy.”

  
  
  
  


\--------------

  
  
  


 

He parks his car near the curb, wearing his cap and sunglasses before he exits the vehicle.

 

With his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, Chris quietly observes the small nearby flower shop which is located just across the road.

 

Tom is fond of warmer colors, red, orange, and perhaps even yellow - but Chris is not sure.

 

Would Tom appreciate a gift such as flowers? Will he consider it a feminine gift, an insult to his manhood?

 

Chris taps his heel onto the curb and muffles a low groan.

 

_ Why can’t this be easier? _

 

Glancing to his right, he sees the alcohol shop he’d originally aimed for, and after another moment of wavering, starts walking in its direction while scanning the shop’s glass display, carefully eyeing his target object.

 

Once back in his car after committing his purchase, Chris places the bag into a safe slot beneath the passenger seat.

 

He reaches for his car keys, places them into their slot, then hesitates.

 

Letting his eyes travel to his rear mirror, Chris sees a man coming out of that small flower shop carrying a large bouquet of crimson roses. 

 

The hand holding the car keys has already fallen to his knee, his leg is no longer resting ready on the gas pump, and Chris watches the man shifting his blood red bouquet between his arms as he slides into his car, probably heading home.

 

And he wonders yet again.

  
  


\----------------

 

Chris is standing in front of the door to Tom’s apartment, and he is afraid.

 

Elsa and the kids boarded the plane just yesterday, and now he is here.

 

Tonight, unlike the previous two occasions he stood in front of this door, Chris cannot claim for innocence or any uncertainty.

 

He knows what lies beyond that door, what might happen tonight, and he knows what lives and kicks within his heart.

 

They are about to spend an entire night together, just the two of them, and all Chris has to do - is knock on that door.

  
  
  


 

\-----------

  
  
  
  


 

Shortly after Tom gets home after work, he decides that he should take his shower after he finishes his newly appointed dinner duties.

 

He does not feel comfortable wearing an apron, but instead owns a few sets of casual, plain clothes that he uses when he’s planning some food action in the kitchen.

 

He snorts to himself more than a few times as he lets the pasta boil and tastes the heating sauce, absently considering whether he should prepare some salad too.

 

Tom had dated a fair number of women in his life, but nevertheless, he could not recall ever experiencing such difficulty in settling over a proper time for an appointment with his partner, let alone managing a decent phone call.

 

And yet, here he is, cooking dinner while waiting for Chris to show up.

 

He acts quickly, finalizing his kitchen business on time, checks and rechecks the taste of the steaming food, then pulls off his smelly t-shirt over his head on his way to his bedroom. Once in his room, Tom eyes his bed, and on a whim, he reaches another decision of changing all of his bed covers and sheets with a set of fresh, clean linens.

 

He allows himself to finally relax in the shower, under the flow of pleasantly heated water, but despite his attempt to calm his mind, he remembers his and Tiffany’s earlier phone conversation.

 

Due to his planned night with Chris, Tom had refused her offer for a spontaneous date tonight, suggesting to meet her tomorrow night instead.

 

He runs his hand through his wet hair and rubs his eyes under the streaming water, once again trying to ignore the memory of the strained expression on Chris’s face as he had spoken about Tiffany’s repeating questions during their argument after Tom’s birthday party, but for naught.

 

_ Did she somehow hurt him?,  _ he wonders, thinking that e has been feeling different about her ever since that night.

 

Upon finishing cleansing himself and stepping out of the bathtub, Tom is able to predict finding his face paler than usual, but observes his reflection in the mirror anyway, deciding not to shave his slight stubble and making sure he finds his appearance satisfactory.

 

He wears a comfortable pair of sweatpants and crisp-clean t-shirt, and after inspecting his bed one last time, Tom leaves his bedroom and heads to the living room again. 

 

The apartment is very quiet, warmed by the scents of freshly cooked food, and Tom sits on the sofa, the only sound available to him is the steady beat of his heart.

 

Minutes pass, and when Tom finally reaches for the television remote, a knock sounds from his door, sending a shiver through him.

 

Inhaling deeply, Tom rises from the sofa, his legs somewhat heavy as he walks until he halts in front of his door, reaching for its handle.

 

_ He won’t disappear when it’s two hours before dawn _ , Tom promises himself,  _ He stays until the morning this time,  _ and pulls the door open.

  
  


 

\----------

  
  


 

Tom recognizes Chris’s face first, seeing the man standing in his doorway, and next he acknowledges… Flowers.

Momentarily transfixed, Tom stares. 

 

In his palm, Chris is holding a medium size bouquet of flowers. 

 

“Hello,” he says, face only semi visible in the stairs room dim light, pulling Tom back.

 

“Hey, come in, come in,” Tom replies, blinking, and steps back, inviting Chris inside.

 

Holding the flowers in one hand and carrying a curious plastic bag in the other, Chris steps into the apartment, eyes the direction of the kitchen, then comes to stand in front of Tom.

 

“It smells really nice,” he says, and Tom smirks at him, satisfied. 

 

“That’s a good start, but the real test is yet to come,” he answers, and Chris returns his smirk.

 

“I think I’ll like it anyway,” he murmurs, glancing down at the plastic bag he is holding, then he lifts it, and hands it to Tom.

 

“This is supposed to sit well with what you’ve prepared.”

 

Tom extracts the bag’s contents, and smirks once again when he pulls out a bottle of some red wine.

 

“That’s a good pick,” He mutters, trying to read the wine’s label as he places the bottle on the food table, but the sense of giddiness of what’s coming next prevents him from grasping any of the printed words.

 

Tom turns to face Chris again, finding the man watching him.

 

“And these,” Chris says gently, offering the flowers to Tom, “these are for you.”

 

Somewhat stiffly, Tom takes the bouquet from Chris’s hand, and looks at the flowers, wordless.

 

He has always occupied the giving side of a gesture such as this, has never thought he would receive a gift of this kind, and from a man - nothing less, but this is… Tom swallows down his throat. 

 

The bouquet contains eight large, blossoming lilies, half of them colored deep orange, and the rest - light blue.

 

The contrast between the colors is so bright, their blossom so eyes catching, and Tom wonders whether Chris had hand picked the flowers into a bouquet by himself.

 

“You like that color, orange, right?” Chris asks him suddenly, obviously unsure about Tom’s silent reaction to his gift.

 

Tom hears the words, but does not look away from the flowers. 

 

_ You are charming, considerate, yet you left my birthday party like a stranger. _

 

“Yeah, It’s my favorite,” he comments quietly. The flowers are beautiful.

 

Chris is still standing close to him, still wearing his jacket, backpack hung over his shoulder. Breathing deeply, he lifts his fingers to Tom’s temple, tucking an invisible lock of hair behind his ear, then runs them over his jaw.

 

“I wasn’t sure how you would react, but I’ve wanted to do this for quite a while, so I took my chances and got these for you.”

 

Chris waits for his response, but when Tom fails to answer, Chris carefully places his hand on Tom’s waist, then onto his lower back, gingerly pulling him into a light embrace.

 

“I’m glad you invited me over, I’ve wanted to see you,” he murmurs next to Tom’s ear, causing his lips to part in a small sigh.

 

Chris leans slightly backwards, eyeing the flowers snug between their bodies, the looks back at Tom.

 

“You’re very quiet, but It was worth the risk,” he says, touching Tom’s chin, “they suit you so nicely, you look lovely holding them,” Chris tells him, carefully tilting his head until they face each other, and slowly leans over to kiss his mouth.

 

Tom closes his eyes, images of Chris refusing to kiss him, pushing him away during that cold night in the club’s dark parking lot pouring into his mind, reminding him yet again of how unfair this situation appears to be.

 

“Wait a moment, wait,” Tom mutters against the man’s lips, breaking their kiss as he leans his head slightly backwards, causing Chris to look at him.

 

“Yeah?” he says through his breaths, searching Tom’s eyes, and Tom opens his mouth, wanting to tell him.

 

_ I wish I could walk away just as easily as you do, so you would know how this feels, how I’m- _

 

“Are you still mad at me? Is that why you are quiet?” Chris asks, and Tom shakes his head at him.

 

_ You give me those gifts, then you show me your back, and I’ve… I’ve- _

 

Chris closes the distance between them again, tentatively pressing their mouths together once more, then parts their short kiss, and places his lips on Tom’s cheek.

 

“What is it,” he half whispers, his palm drawing small circles on Tom’s lower back.

 

Resolved, engulfed with Chris’s scent and long awaited proximity, Tom inhales deeply, bracing his words.

 

“Chris, I’ve-,” he starts, then lowers his head, pressing his mouth into Chris’s neck.

 

He will tell him the truth now.

  
  
  


“I’ve missed you.”  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on you boy child, you winner and loser,  
> Come on you miner for truth and delusion,  
> And shine!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what's the matter with you?  
> Please, Sing me something new  
> Don't you know, the cold and wind and rain don't know, they only seem to come and go away.
> 
> Stand by me, Nobody knows the way it's gonna be.
> 
>  
> 
> [Oasis - Stand by me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maTP315XZCQ)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> I apologize for the long delay between posts - I really do. 
> 
> The chapters are long, complex, yada yada yada, and I simply don't wish to publish any material which I do not deem as good enough.
> 
> I hope you are still reading this :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter - 
> 
> \- This chapter and the next shall contain vivid, explicit, complex physical situations, conversations and thoughts.  
> \- No violence occurs, nobody gets harmed.
> 
> Another short note as a prologue for this chapter -
> 
> Chris's past is described through the first part of chapter 11.  
> I personally think that being reminded of Chris's past may contribute to our understanding of Chris's speech and state of mind in this chapter, so if you are up for it - take a quick read :)
> 
> That's it, thanks for reading, and may you enjoy this chapter :)

“Chris, I’ve-,” Tom starts, then lowers his head, pressing his mouth to Chris’s neck.

 

“I’ve missed you.”  

 

The palm on his lower back tightens its hold and pulls him closer at this, urging Tom to lift his head until he is facing Chris, their mouths close to each other.

 

“I’ve missed you, too,” Chris tells him, and the words curve Tom’s mouth into a smile, his hand holding firmly onto the flowers between them.

 

_My prince._

 

Using his free arm, Tom reaches behind Chris’s head and holds on the back of his neck, drawing him near until their mouths touch.

 

He kisses Chris gently, slightly prying his lips open - welcoming him back, until Chris hums, ending their kiss.

 

“I should take a shower,” he murmurs, and Tom nods, trailing his fingers from Chris’s neck to his shoulder before dropping his arm back to its place.

 

“Sure, take your time,” he says, and Chris plants another small peck on his lips, releases their embrace, and starts heading down the hall.

 

Tom watches him go, flowers held close to his chest, then throws a quick look over the living room, making sure once more that it is as neat and clean as it should be. The apartment feels warmer now, significantly more than it did mere minutes ago.

 

 _I did not mean to tell him that I’ve missed him,_ Tom argues with his heart, _that’s not what I was trying to say._

 

An unexpected answer echos back from his mind, in the voice of that daring whisper, the one that’s been secretly insinuating for months that things are constantly changing within Tom’s supposed routine.

 

It’s just a dim, fleeting response, not an actual reply, but rather a soft, unmistakably knowing laughter.

  


\----------------------------

  
  


Tom knocks once on the bathroom door, leaning his shoulder over the door jamb.

 

“Yeah?” Chris replies, his voice muffled by the running water.

 

“Would you like some salad along with the main dish as well?”

 

Chris hesitates with his reply.

 

“Well, yes, but I can prepare it myself if it’s too much trouble for you to make one.”

 

_Too much trouble?_

 

“Quite a demanding task indeed,” Tom says, smirking to himself, suddenly feeling cocky.

 

“Do you believe you can make a better salad than me then?”

 

Another hesitation, a longer one this time.

 

“Is that a tricky question?”

 

Tom bites his lower lip from laughing. The man is simply asking for it.

 

“It might be,” he replies, straightening from the door, “But anyway, just make sure not to touch the red handle over the center of the bathtub, I’ve had it replaced, and now it cuts off the hot water.”

 

A moment passes in silence.

 

“What?”, Chris calls, “Tom, There’s only one handle in here, it’s red, and I’ve-, I’ve used it-”

 

All at once, the flow of the water stops completely, and Tom sniggers uncontrollably, covering his mouth with his fist.

 

“Wait, what do you mean it cuts off the hot water?”

 

Tom’s laughter spills out of his mouth, but he manages to stifle his amusement under his palm.

 

The evening is turning out to be even more pleasurable than Tom had thought it would.

  
  


\-------------------------

 

Fortunately or not, a basketball match happens to be broadcasted on the national sports channel tonight, and when Tom asks Chris whether he’ll prefer to have their dinner on the coffee table in front of the television instead of over the kitchen table - the answer in a form of an eager smile and low mumble makes Chris’s stand rather clear, no words necessary.

 

“Alright then,” Tom says, “Let me just set up the table with the food then.”

 

Chris looks at the coffee table Tom just gestured at, then runs his hand through his still moist hair.

 

“Do you need help with anything?”

 

Tom is about to needle Chris a little further about that awfully difficult to make salad he asked for, but the earnest look in the man’s eyes and that low tone to his voice, something about them holds Tom’s tongue down.

 

“You can remove the books from the table if you like,” he answers, his twinkling mischievousness calming down.

 

“I’ll take care of the rest.”

  


\----------------

  


“Did you see that?” Chris asks sharply, turning his head to look at Tom who is sitting next to him, pointing at the television with his fork.

 

“Did you see how that idiot missed his shot?”

 

Tom hums in reply, smiling as he chews down on his food.

 

They are sitting on the sofa, watching the basketball match like two regular friends, but the sight of the blossoming lilies sitting comfortably next to the TV set along with the fresh memory of the kisses they shared when Chris entered the apartment, both send a stable, soothing sensation through Tom’s stomach.

 

Chris is so engrossed with the game, eating Tom’s prepared dinner wholeheartedly, leaning over his now second serving of food, and even though they are not sitting very close to each other, Tom feels that this, the two of them sharing dinner in his living room, is exactly what he had hoped for.

 

Minutes pass with a few additional verbal comments about the game, and in the following commercial break, Chris leans back away from his plate, his palm rubbing his stomach.  

 

He turns to look at him, and Tom meets his eyes.

 

“The food tastes great, Tom,” he says, and Tom smiles at him.

 

He thinks about placing his palm on Chris’s knee, or caressing his fingers along his stubble, but holds himself back. The situation feels somehow unfamiliar to him, and this is not the right time, not yet.

 

“Well, this laborious dinner, it was not an easy task,” Tom says with a smirk, causing Chris to huff a dry laugh.

 

“But it is my pleasure,” he adds, and means it with all his heart.

  


\------------------

  


During the last minutes of the game, their plates emptied of food and glasses drained of wine, Tom decides to use the opportunity to clear up the table, gathers the serving dishes and utensils, and heads into the kitchen.

 

Chris asks him again whether he needs any help when he hears the sound of running water in the sink, but Tom refuses his offer, wishing to complete the cleaning as quickly as possible, and also, he doesn’t say it out loud, to have a quiet moment for himself as well.

 

He finishes rinsing the few dishes within moments, pours the remains of Chris’s wine into his own glass, then sips it unhurriedly, leaning on the marble while watching the night sky through the window.

 

Approaching Chris, commencing physical contact with him, has never been easy. Chris is usually the one to initiate intimacy between them, but tonight, waiting for him to go ahead and trigger some closeness, does not feel like what Tom wants to do.

 

He carries the glass to his mouth, empties it in a swift swish, then wipes his lips with the back of his palm as he swallows before placing it back into the sink.

 

Tonight, just for tonight, as he usually tends to promise himself when it comes to this man, Chris is his, and Tom can do as he wishes.

  


\-------------

  


Tom sees Chris still gazing at the television from his sitting position on his sofa when he re-enters the living room, arm resting across the backrest to his side.

 

When Chris notices Tom’s arrival and turns to smile at him, Tom decides that this, this little smile - this is his chance.

 

Following his instinct, Tom sits right next to Chris, fitting his upper body into the crook of Chris’s right arm.

 

Wordlessly, Chris follows Tom’s movements with eyes. He appears to be somewhat surprised yet complacent, and Tom giggles at the man’s general silence, contrasting with his previous vocalized behavior.

 

He glances at the broadcasting screen, notes that the television is not set on the sports channel anymore, then turns to regard Chris.

 

Their faces are positioned so much closer now, their sides pressed together, and Chris’s arm is stretched just above Tom’s shoulders.

 

“Something tells me your team did not make it.”

 

Still calculating Tom’s initiation, Chris smirks at him.

 

“They didn’t make it, no,” he replies, then turns his attention back to the television.

 

Tom joins him and stares at the monitor, until Chris clears his throat and peeks back at him.

 

“Thank you,” he says, “for doing all of this I mean,” then slowly shifts until his arm is lowered to rest on Tom’s shoulders, sending heat and unfamiliar weight through Tom’s back.

 

“Dinner was great, the food tasted very good,” he continues, then trails off, and Tom senses fingers coming to hold his shoulder, slowly beginning to knead into his flesh.

 

They have never sat like this before, with Chris’s arm purposefully placed onto Tom’s shoulders, holding him, and Tom does not want to wait anymore. He leans closer to him, reaching his hand to run his fingers along Chris’s chin.

 

“I’m so happy you liked it,” Tom says, and he closes the gap between them until their mouths are pressed together.

 

The fingers on Tom’s shoulder tighten their hold onto him as soon as their lips meet, and he moans into Chris’s mouth, encouraged and thrilled with their reunion.

 

 _My sweet Chris,_ he thinks, moving his hand to the back of Chris’s neck, pulling him closer.

 

Tom kisses him, slowly opening his mouth and sliding his tongue through Chris’s lips. He releases Chris’s neck, squeezes his upper arm, and gingerly lowers his hand to rest on the man’s right breast.

 

Tom has touched Chris’s chest like this before, but after weeks of not sharing any contact, he sighs at the hardness of the man’s torso under his palm.

 

Chris, on the other hand, is accepting Tom’s advances, but other than his breath coming out a little laboured into their kiss, he is silent, sensing strangely passive under Tom’s energy.

 

Eager yet bewildered, Tom parts their mouths and searches Chris’s eyes. When he sees no obvious reluctance, he leans backwards to look at Chris properly.

 

“Is everything ok? ” Tom asks lightly, petting Chris’s stomach through his shirt, ”Are you uncomfortable?”

 

Chris blinks his half hooded eyes. He inhales deeply, as if about to answer, but says nothing as he looks from Tom’s throat to his face.

 

When Chris’s silence is prolonged, Tom decides to change his sitting position. He pulls his left leg under himself and turns sideways until he is almost facing Chris fully. Now, half crouching on his knee, he leans over Chris again, presses their mouths together for a moment, then drags his nose along Chris’s jaw until his lips hover below his ear.

 

 _I want him_ , he thinks, sensing the tug at his groin at Chris’s scent, at the heat radiating from his body, _I want him to kiss me._

 

“What’s bothering you,” He asks while his hand caresses Chris’s lower belly just above the waist seam of his jeans, erection now stretching in Tom’s briefs.

 

"I'm not sure about your mood-” Chris mutters, his arm reaching to hold onto Tom’s taunting palm, “about what you want."

 

Upon hearing this, Tom sighs deeply, his hand halting its advances.

 

He’s been harsh and fickle with Chris, he knows, and if this, Chris’s atypical hesitancy, is one of the consequences Tom must face, then the price for his behavior is simply painful.

 

He knows how passionate this man can be, familiar with the strength Chris may use once he’s inflamed, and Tom misses that heat, that unmistakable way Chris holds him when he’s aroused-

 

“I’ve missed you,” Tom tells him, biting his lower lip when he feels Chris’s fingers tighten around his hip bone.

 

“I want this,” he says, kisses the man’s cheek, and while Chris’s hand is still covering his, Tom resumes moving his palm downwards over to Chris’s pelvis.

 

With a ragged breath, he cups Chris through his jeans, causing Chris to hiss below him, and himself to moan at the satisfying, hard bulge his fingers find.

 

“Yeah?” Chris grunts, the hand on Tom’s hip drawing Tom closer. He turns his head, searching for Tom’s mouth until he finds it, and kisses him.

 

It’s only a short press of lips, lasting until Chris reaches his second arm to grasp Tom’s waist, then he pulls Tom closer again, this time with more intent, and Tom realizes Chris is attempting to pull him into his lap.

 

The idea is appealing, and Chris seems to be eager again, but there is this something, this something Tom wants to do-

 

“Wait,” Tom tells him, supporting himself on Chris’s shoulder, “wait a moment-”

 

He’s thought about this for quite a while, and now, especially after sensing Chris’s doubt, Tom wants to try what he has been considering, to know how it might feel to share his impulse with Chris.

 

Chris frees his waist, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and searches his face.

 

“You wish to go to your bedroom?”, Chris asks, his eyes both glazed and inquisitive at the same time.

 

“No,” Tom replies, shaking his head as he shoves his personal qualms away.

 

He pulls his leg from beneath himself back into a sitting position, and with as much elegance as possible, he lowers himself to the floor, his hands tugging Chris’s legs gently apart so he will be able to kneel between them.

 

“Huh, Tom-” Chris heaves, staring at Tom, overwhelmed as he shifts his legs according to Tom’s maneuvers, allowing Tom to position himself in front of him.

 

“Is that what you want-” he says, straightening his torso against the cushions, his chest visibly rising with his breaths.

 

“It is,” Tom whispers, whether to himself or to Chris, he is not sure, and reaches his arms to run them over Chris’s thighs, slowly nearing the center of his pelvis.

 

When Tom presses his fingers to the seam of the jeans’s waistband, pulling the first button free, Chris sucks in a breath, bringing his hand to Tom’s head, raking his fingers through Tom’s curls.

 

“You’re something else Tom, let me tell you, you’re something else,” Chris tells him, and Tom flicks his eyes to the man’s face, finding Chris watching him attentively, and he smirks, sensing his cheeks heat.

 

This, like almost everything else he’s done with Chris, will be Tom’s first attempt in an act such as this with a man, and aside from aspiring to pleasure Chris, Tom hopes to enjoy this as well, or at least deem it as pleasant.

 

He finishes unbuttoning the waistband denim, and discovers a fitting pair of dark blue underwear worn beneath the jeans, covering Chris’s crotch.

 

Chris is completely hard, his erection straining under the thin cloth, and the vivid sight unnerves Tom for a moment. He’s never been this up close with a man’s groin, but Tom’s will to share this experience with Chris finds its way through his doubts, and carefully, he reaches palm to glide it over Chris’s length through the thin material.

 

His eyes are fixed upon the view of his hand’s slow strokes when he feels Chris’s fingers ghosting over his temple, then moving to caress his cheek.

 

“Are you comfortable in this position?” Chris asks him, and Tom bites down on his tongue from sniggering again.

 

 _No, not really, but none of it matters right now,_ he thinks, silently enjoying Chris’s gentle touch before deciding to move on with his cause.

 

“I’m fine,” Tom answers mildly, sensing nervous again, then tugs at the brief’s waistband with both of his hands, carefully drawing it down along with Chris’s jeans over to his upper thighs, finally exposing his groin.

 

Tom parts his lips, his eyes gazing at the sight in front of him. He can hear his own breaths coming out shaky, his arms’ muscles clenched as he still grips Chris’s clothing.

 

Chris is undeniably large, his skin flushed with his arousal, and the vision appears so different, especially at this intimate position, but Tom’s instinct tells him that despite the initial uncertainty, Chris is indeed, very, very beautiful.

 

“Tom,” Chris says, the wariness obvious in his tone, his palm leaving Tom’s face to warmly press down on the back of his neck, “just-”

 

“Relax Chris, let me,” Tom precedes him, refusing to be distracted by Chris’s concern, and he shifts forward, preparing himself.

 

He releases the hold on Chris’s jeans, moves his left hand to hold onto the side of Chris’s upper thigh and takes his erection into his right palm, slowly stroking it once, twice, then leans his head forward.

 

Closing his eyes, hoping for the best and sensing his mouth surprisingly watering all together, Tom opens his mouth and wraps his lips around Chris’s hard cock, tasting him for the first time.

 

From above him, a sharp hiss is heard, but Tom leaves his eyes shut, his mouth timidly moving moving over Chris’s length, adjusting to the new sensation.

 

Chris tastes good, healthy, only slightly saltier than the rest of his body, he senses clean,  smelling fresh of shower soap, and Tom sighs inwardly, deeply satisfied.

 

When he releases his fingers from the base of Chris’s erection and starts moving his head in a slow, regular pace, working his jaws carefully around Chris’s hard flesh, he feels fingers carding through his hair, lightly pressing into his scalp.

 

“Tom-,” Chris pants from his seat, his voice rough, causing Tom to open his eyes and watch Chris’s abdomen muscles move with his strain.

 

“Tom, you’re crazy, you’re just crazy-,” he says through his teeth, his free arm coming to rest on Tom’s shoulder, massaging it through Tom’s shirt while gently stroking his hair with his other hand.

 

Tom breaths through his nose as an exchange for the smile he cannot perform at the moment, and continues his effort with his mouth, pulling his head slightly upwards, attempting to envelope only the tip of Chris’s cock with his tongue.

 

His initiative produces another sharp moan from Chris, and Tom lets his eyes fall shut again at the voice, sensing himself hardening as blood flows down into his own groin.

 

“And you know what,” Chris says, his low voice catching Tom’s attention, his hand moving to cup Tom’s jaw, keeping his head from moving any further.

 

Tom tenses at what he thinks Chris might try to do at this position, but wills himself to calm down. He wants to try this, and with Chris, no one else.

 

“It’s fine, I like it,” Chris continues, his thumb rubbing Tom’s cheek, then he shifts his waist, gently directing himself through Tom’s lips.

 

“Oh,” Chris grunts, then hisses sharply through his teeth again, drawing his hips backwards, then forward again, smoothly prodding his way deeper down Tom’s mouth.

 

He does not attempt to go too much further, only pushes himself half the way in, then halts his movements and releases his hold on Tom’s head.

 

“Because-”, he starts, going momentarily quiet when Tom works his tongue around his tip again, “because I’ve gone mad too,-”

 

The words are said very softly, and Tom removes himself from Chris’s hard length, relieving his jaws.

 

He glances at Chris, and catches him staring right back, eyes glassy and mouth open,  breathing just as deeply as Tom is.

 

“I love your hair,” Chris murmurs.

 

With a flattered, bashful smile, Tom leans over to kiss Chris’s inner thigh. He trails his way back to Chris’s hardness with his tongue, running it up the hot length until he wraps his lips around it, breathing slowly through his nose.

 

He braces his hand on Chris’s knee when he swallows more of the man’s hard cock, but then an arm comes to hold his shoulder, tugging him backwards, away from Chris’s crotch.

 

“Tom, Tommy, stop, it’s- it’s enough,”

 

Immediately, his stomach warming with some hot resentment upon Chris’s resistance, Tom halts his advances.

 

He leans backwards on his knees, wiping his mouth with his arm, and straightens his gaze to meet Chris’s eyes.

 

“Why?”

 

Sighing deeply, Chris lowers his gaze to his lap, lifts his hips in order to rearrange his jeans and briefs, and carefully tucks himself back into his undergarments, buttoning back his jeans.

 

“I prefer to finish off in a different way,” he says, looking at Tom for a moment, then shifts his torso, fitting it better against the sofa’s backrest.

 

 _He’d rather sleep with me_ , Tom thinks and sits back on his heels. He draws himself upwards, moving to sit next to Chris on the sofa while considering Chris’s preference.

 

“That was good, It felt great,” Chris tells him.

 

When Tom responds with a quiet nod and a humble smirk, Chris brings his arm around Tom’s shoulders, fingers weighing on his upper back.

 

“Would you like me to return the gesture?”

 

Tom turns his head to peek at him, his body warming at the words. The answer is obvious, but still, he is thrilled with the offer.

 

“I would, yes,” he replies, laying his hand over Chris’s leg, squeezing his knee.

 

Chris nods, then begins advancing his arm towards Tom’s pants’ waistband, but Tom stops him midway.

 

Wordlessly, Tom leans over to place a small kiss on Chris’s mouth, then pushes himself from the sofa into a standing position, turning to face Chris.

 

_This, this is how I want him._

 

He takes a step forward between Chris’s legs, certain of his will but sensing nervous with his dare, and traces the lines of Chris’s hair with his fingers.

 

“Like this, alright?” Tom half whispers, following Chris’s uncertain gaze as he slowly realizes Tom’s intention.

 

“Yeah, ok” Chris mumbles, his expression unsure as he straightens himself on the sofa once more, “alright.”

 

He reaches to Tom’s sweatpants’ front once again, and Tom watches his face, seeing the man’s uncertainty, and wonders about Chris’s past experience in this act with men.

 

 _Has he done this before?_ Tom thinks fleetingly, but banishes the thought immediately from his mind, helping Chris to lower his pants, then his underwear, small shivers running through him as his erection is released to the air.

 

For a moment, Chris remains still, observing Tom’s bare groin, but then, silent but for his deep breathing, he brings his hand to grip Tom’s hip bone, balancing them both, and raises his other hand to cup the base of Tom’s shaft as he leans closer.

 

Still tracing his fingers through Chris’s hair, Tom parts his lips in a sharp breath, taken with the sight of Chris like this, willing and beautiful.

 

“You are the sweetest man I know Chris,” Tom suddenly whispers, then bites his lower lip right away, his own words once again making him feel raw and exposed.

 

Chris barely responds but with a low hum, he does not even glance up at Tom, his face is stilled with concentration, and without any further comment, he dips his head forward - and takes Tom into his mouth.

 

“Oh, Chris,” Tom grunts, the sensation enveloping all of his senses at once, of Chris’s warm mouth around his flesh.

 

Chris moves around him slowly, gradually dragging his mouth up and down his shaft, and Tom watches him, trailing his fingers over Chris’s jaw, grazing them along his cheeks, sensing them stir with the draw of his head.

 

 _He’s mine_ , Tom thinks, then moves to pull his t-shirt above his head, carelessly placing it on the table near them.

 

Chris pauses his movements, quietly eyeing Tom’s his bare torso, rubbing circles into Tom’s hip bone with his thumb. When Tom tugs at his shirt, Chris pulls it off his head as well.

 

Looking the bare chested man in front of him, Tom touches Chris’s shoulder with a silent request to continue, and when his will is granted, when Chris receives him into his mouth once again, Tom’s lips fall open with a hacked grunt that breaks the apartment’s silence around them.

 

 _How good this is_ , a low voice echos within Tom’s mind, _to have Chris like this, to dominate him so, to be able to keep him here, with me-_

 

“You are a man hard to get, Chris, but like this” Tom mutters through his teeth, "you are totally worth the effort.”

 

At this Chris pulls backwards, looking up to Tom with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk.

 

“Me? I’m the one who’s hard to get?” he asks, and Tom presses his tongue to the back of his teeth, just barely holding himself back from sticking it out at Chris.

 

“Absolutely,” he replies instead, his breath a little laboured while tracing the shell of Chris’s ear with the tip of his finger.

 

“You’re crazy, Tom,” Chris says, glancing at Tom one more time before bringing his arm to Tom’s hip, this time gripping him with more force.

 

“Just crazy,” he add and pulls Tom closer, to take him back into his mouth, sucking him with more intent now.

 

“Ah,” Tom hisses, unprepared for the sweet assault, leveraging himself on Chris’s shoulder as the man applies pressure with both his tongue and the walls of his mouth, as if punishing Tom for his insolence.

 

Chris is holding him still, working his mouth around Tom’s cock, licking him from base to tip, and Tom closes his eyes as his blood rushes through his body.

 

All too soon, his lower belly tightens in preparation, and there’s is this bolt of energy flowing through him, he’s close, Chris’s mouth feels much better than it should, sinfully warm-

 

“Chris, I-,” Tom pants, putting a little pressure to push Chris away from his crotch.

 

“Ok, ok, wait I-,  I need a moment,” he rasps, trying to cool himself down. He’s too close to the brink, and it’s much too soon, he wants this to last.

 

Chris seems to understand Tom’s meaning, wipes his mouth with the back of his arm, then rises to his feet, coming to stand close to Tom.

 

He helps Tom to reattach his briefs and sweatpants around his hips, then brings his arms around Tom’s lower back, drawing him near until their naked torsos touch, causing Tom to sigh with relief.

 

“You taste good all over,” Chris purrs, then seeks Tom’s lips for a kiss, which Tom allows after a slight hesitation. Kisses which follow oral sex might taste tricky, but this is Chris, and he feels this is not the case.

 

Chris kisses him deeply, coaxing Tom’s lips to open with gentle prods of his tongue, and Tom lets himself be drawn into their embrace, body edgy with arousal yet lax with contentment.

 

Tom wraps his arms around Chris’s neck, wanting more of Chris’s mouth, but Chris breaks their kiss into shorter caresses of their lips while lowering his hands to Tom’s waist. He draws Tom’s lower body to meet his own, crowding their groins, letting them both feel the presence of their hard lengths pressed against each other.

 

“Tommy,” Chris speaks against his lips, “Do you want to do this? Are you up for it?”

 

On any other circumstances, coming out from any other person’s mouth, Tom might have considered this as a taunt.

 

Tom hums his agreement instead, quietly enjoying the sensation of their chests pressed together.

 

“Should I go and get protection then?” Chris asks him, and Tom hesitates with his answer.

 

A part of him wants to finish in Chris’s mouth, but the man’s eagerness, his arms around Tom’s body - Tom is persuaded to follow Chris’s wishes and have his own preference fulfilled in another future opportunity.

 

 _But when?,_ his mind asks him in return, and Tom smoothly ignores it, taking a step away from his and Chris’s embrace.

 

“No, let me, I’ll go and get what we need,” he says, sensing suddenly shy, sending Chris a coy smile before he turns to go.

 

Tom enters his bedroom, feeling a little cold sans his shirt after being surrounded by Chris’s heat, and sits on his bed as he opens the second drawer of the small cupboard.

 

He grabs the small phial of oil, closes the drawer and places it on the mattress next to him. Opening the second drawer, Tom snatches the small package of condoms, but pauses his motion just as he is about to push the drawer back, his attention drawn by something else.

 

There, lying quietly by itself within the drawer’s cartridge, resting on the same withered paper package, is the small golden horse pendant Chris had given him, attached to its necklace.

 

Tom looks at the small ornament, its small figure half shadowed in the darkened room.

 

He likes its gentle weight in his palm when he holds it sometimes, inspecting its fine shape and color, his eyes always ending being drawn to the horse’s mane, tossed wildly across his head, untamed in the horse’s trot.

 

Tom observes it for another moment, then blinks, pulling himself out of his reverie.  He looks at the condoms package in his palm, then, instead of taking the entire box with him, he extracts a single condom packet out of it, and places the box back into the tray, bidding one last short look at the small horse before closing back the drawer.

 

Grabbing the the oil phile and the single condom with him, Tom stands up from his seat, turning for the room’s door.

 

He glances at the bed before he leaves, they are going to sleep on it together tonight, and steps out of the door towards the hall while the small hairs on his neck are prickling, but not only because of the cool night’s air.

  
  


\-------------

  
  


Tom finds Chris perching on the sofa with a glass of water in hand when he returns, quietly watching an unknown channel on the television.

 

When Chris sees him approaching, he immediately turns off the television, smiling shyly while waiting for Tom to come and sit next to him.

 

And just before he does, Tom takes a full look at Chris’s bare chest, breathing deeply as he takes his seat on the cushions.

 

It must be a trick of light that Chris’s body appears larger than the last time they have done this, and Tom knows Chris must gain more body mass for his part as Thor, but still, a sense of wariness dawns on him at the sight, and he mentally cringes at himself.

 

Tom is loath of this- this daunting feeling that makes him feel intimidated every time they are about to engage in intimate contact, fearing the possible pain and thinking himself inferior in terms of physical strength. He’d thought these emotions would dissipate by now, and yet - the same disquiet grips him once more.

 

“Is everything ok?” Chris asks him tenderly.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tom says, shaking his head and placing the phial and the plastic packet on the table, “everything is fine, I was just thinking of something for a moment.”

 

Chris remains silent at this, probably contemplating Tom’s answer, until he tentatively comes to touch the back of Tom’s fingers with his, and Tom is just about to reassure him once again that indeed, everything is fine, but Chris precedes him.

 

“I did not come here just for-... well, for sex, if that’s what you are wondering about,” he says softly, wiping his palm over his lips, then his stubble.

 

“I mean,” he starts, clearing his throat, “I am no saint, yeah? I did think about this, I was uh- I was hoping we’d do this, but um-, sitting here, being with you, I was waiting for it as well, and I think it’s...well, I think it’s great,” he pauses at this, grunting in defeat.

 

Tom wants to chuckle at Chris’s valiant attempt, he’s come to understand that finding the words is not easy for him, yet he does not. These fears that attack him, they hold no foundations in reality, Tom is not inferior, and they must go.

 

He turns to face Chris, places his palm on his chest, rubbing his breast muscle down to his lower abdomen and kisses him, his intention clear.

 

“I am no saint either,” Tom murmurs while kissing him, opening his lips and letting his tongue find its way into Chris’s mouth, grabbing onto the man’s ribs and patiently yet firmly - drawing Chris forward over him while Tom leans backwards to lie on his back.

 

Chris complies, following Tom’s lead, allowing Tom to pull them both into a horizontal position over the cushions until he is bracing himself on the base of his palms on each side of Tom’s head, their legs lying across the other edge of the couch.

 

Tom places his mouth on the Chris’s shoulder, tastes his skin, then reaches to run his palm over Chris’s back, down to his waist, the man feels wonderful, and eventually Tom reaches Chris’s jeans covered buttock, tracing his fingers across the firm flesh.

 

“Hmm,” Chris hums low in his throat, shifting his hips a little, yet his body still feels rigid, his breaths are too well paced, and Tom realizes that he is still hesitating.

 

“What is holding you back Chris,” Tom asks mildly, collecting his poise and shuffling with his arms in order to look at Chris.

 

Chris looks into Tom’s eyes, his forehead creasing.

 

“You look so nervous, you always do when we go at this, and I want this to be good for you,” he says, his voice like a plea, and Tom sighs unevenly, his belly prickling.

 

It’s true, he is nervous, but he is not weak, they are both equal adults, Chris is wasting their measured time together with his unwavering concern, and what does he even know about waiting, waiting for this night to happen between them-,

 

“Chris, we’ve been through this before. I am not fragile,” he says, sending both of his arms between their bodies until he reaches the buttoned seam of Chris’s jeans, tugging at the waistband with his fingers.

 

“I did not say you are-”

 

“Do you want this?” Tom cuts him, pointedly waiting for Chris’s answer as he pulls open the first button.

 

Chris exhales softly, hips drifting towards Tom’s palms while looking down at him.

 

“I do.”

 

With a shaky breath, Tom plucks open the remaining buttons of Chris’s jeans. Curving his back upwards for leverage, he reaches lower, gasping a little as he cups Chris through his briefs, finding his cock hard and waiting.

 

“Me too, just as much as you do, and I won’t beg for it,” he finishes, stroking Chris’s length as he speaks.

 

“Uh,” Chris pants above him, “Ok, alright,” he continues, then dips his head, capturing Tom’s lips in a kiss, his slow demeanor changing, wringing their mouths open and joining their tongues almost at once.

 

“I understand you,” Chris talks through their kiss, spreading Tom’s legs with his knees until he lies on top of him.

 

Tom breaks their kiss in a silent heave, vividly reminded of just how heavy Chris can feel, gasping when Chris starts rubbing his pelvis against him, shallow motions which soon turn into sharp little thrusts of hips.

 

“Thomas,” Chris whispers close to his ear, gripping Tom’s arm as he bucks against him.

 

The coarse denim of Chris’s jeans feels crude against the thinner material of his sweatpants, but Tom allows is to happen, the gruff air of their clothed position carrying him along, causing him to rock his hips back, meeting Chris for his thrusts.

 

Chris grounds his waist, gradually slowing down his movements to a halt, then hauls backwards to balance himself on his knees.

 

He watches Tom closely, then reaches to his jeans’ waistband, pulling them down his thighs.

 

Tom reciprocates, removes his own remaining clothes, and Chris discards his underwear as well, huffing a breathy chuckle when he needs to stand up in order to untangle his feet from his clinging jeans.

 

When he is done, Chris waits patiently until Tom rearranges himself on the cushions, then comes to crouch between Tom’s thighs, carefully positioning Tom’s legs around his waist.

 

“Is this convenient for you?”

 

“Yes,” Tom replies mildly, his eyes following Chris as he fetches the small condom packet from the table, then tears it open with his teeth.

 

He unrolls the the rubber, his brows furrowed in concentration as he begins to adjusts it over himself, and Tom’s heart is beating both in his chest and in his ears.

 

There are words which are dancing on the tip of his tongue, impatiently waiting to be said.

 

“Chris,”

 

Chris pauses his attempts with the condom, lifting his eyes to Tom’s.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Tom breathes deeply. This is what he wants.

 

“We don’t have to use protection,” he says, his voice loud in the quiet living room.

 

Chris stares at him for a moment, his fixed posture bordering on comical.

 

“No condom you mean?”

 

Tom nods at him.

 

“I know you are clean, and I’ve gotten tested, I’m clean as well,” he says, the words tasting peculiar on his tongue.

 

Chris continues to watch him, his body rising along with his breaths. His eyes travel over Tom’s body, then back to his face, his expression unreadable, and Tom holds his air as he waits for an answer.

 

_Say yes._

 

“Ok, ok,” Chris replies finally, releasing Tom’s batted breath.

 

Removing the condom from himself, Chris places it back on the table, grabbing the small oil phial instead, pouring a small amount on his right palm, then slowly reaches towards Tom’s groin to between his legs, near his core.

 

Gently, Chris weights a single finger into him, and Tom bites onto his tongue, trying to relax against the slight stretch. It has been a long time since they’ve done this.

 

Face ridged in fixed attention, Chris works his wrist within Tom’s opening, his eyes hooded and unclear.

 

“You took me by surprise,” he mutters, almost to himself, and Tom does not respond to this, as his mind offers him no reply.

 

He had contemplated over this option since their previous encounter on more than a few occasions, and could not find a stable enough reason, aside from the obvious ones, not to do this.

 

Chris rubs his palm over Tom’s thigh as he prods his way inside with another finger, extracting small gasps from Tom’s mouth as he works him, his expression soft but determined.

 

Tom gets a hold of Chris’s wrist when he feels he’s ready, and Chris pauses his ministrations immediately, removing his wrist from between Tom’s legs.

 

He pours more oil over his right palm, and this times aims for his own groin, laving his erection with a few long, thorough strokes.

 

When he is done, Chris inhales deeply, his whole torso expanding with his respite for air, and leans downwards to cover Tom’s body, swallowing down his throat as he looks at him.

 

“Are you ready?” Chris asks him, somewhat out of breath, and it’s Tom’s turn to swallow the extra moisture in his mouth.

 

He runs his hands from Chris’s lower back up to the man’s shoulders, then wraps his arms around Chris’s neck and draws him for a kiss.

 

It’s a soft kiss, a prolonged brush of lips is as much as Tom’s crowded throat allows him to give.

 

“As ready as I’ll always be,” Tom murmurs into Chris’s mouth, then presses his rear against Chris’s hardness, “come on Chris,-”

 

“Ah,” Chris rasps above him, propelled by Tom’s decided movement, and reaches down between their bodies, taking hold of his cock, aligning it with Tom’s entrance.

 

He enters Tom with no further comment, pushing his hard length into him, draws his hips once, twice, and muscles his cock all the way in, causing Tom to throw his head to side on the cushion, his eyes tightly shut and his mouth open in a silent gasp.

 

 _That burning, stupid pain_ , is all Tom can think of for a moment, gripping Chris’s arms as they are solidly placed on each side of his head, swollen with effort.

 

Chris rolls his hips, shoving his cock just a little deeper, until there is no more way to go, then he slowly leans his chest against Tom’s torso, lowering his head to press his face against the crook of Tom’s neck, his breath hot over Tom’s skin.

 

Slowly opening his eyes as the initial surge of pain eases, Tom stares at the ceiling, relaxing his hands and relieving the iron grip of his thighs around Chris’s waist.

 

“Chris,” Tom sighs through his lips, shifting his arms to rake his fingers through the hairs on the base of Chris’s neck.

 

Long weeks have passed since their most recent encounter, and this really does feel different, he thinks, skin to skin, no barrier between them.

 

Slowly, Chris pulls his head from Tom’s neck and starts moving again, grinding his hips in small, insistent thrusts, his eyes closed and his forehead creased with concentration. He brings his arm close to Tom's face, running his thumb over Tom's temple.

 

"You are not fragile, Tom," he says hoarsely, eyes now open, and Tom looks at him, his gasps timed with Chris's deeper thrusts.

 

Shuffling down with his free arm, Chris grips Tom's thigh, hooking it higher up his waist as he continues to slide in and out of him.

 

"Far from it," he says, then leans his head over and presses his mouth to Tom's in a brief kiss.

 

Tom closes his eyes, reluctant to respond.

 

Chris's proximity, his weight rocking above him, despite its intimidating aspects, fits well with his own body.

 

This feels so different from sleeping with Tiffany, Tom is aroused, focused, his cock is hard between their joined bodies, and Chris is holding him, kissing him -

 

How will he attempt to lie with her again after this?

 

"You've ruined me for the ladies, you know" he whispers.

 

Chris draws his eyebrows together, his eyes narrowing.

 

"For her you mean?,"  he asks between his thrusts, "for your girl?"

 

Tom smirks at this.

 

 _For all of them, may be,_ he thinks nervously, crookedly.

 

“For her too, yeah.”

 

Chris gazes at him, his face hardening.

 

“You should have been dancing with me, not with her,” he says, voice hoarse, then braces himself on his elbows and increases the pace of his hips into a series of short, fierce jams from his waist.

 

Tom moans at the change of air, holding onto the sofa’s cushions as Chris intensifies his movements.

 

“Oh yeah? You think so?” Tom rasps maliciously, a small part of him eager balance all the kind words he has bestowed on Chris tonight with some tease.

 

Taken aback, Chris’s forehead creases in confusion. He slides his arm beneath Tom’s head, cups the back of his neck, holding him as he invests a single rough thrust into his arse, forcing a sharp grunt from Tom’s mouth.

 

“I do, I think so,” Chris says, panting as he continues to take him, hips quick and determined, “Are you close?”

 

“Uh,” Tom pants back, “yeah, I am,” he answers, holding Chris’s shoulder as their bodies rock together on the narrow cushions.

 

Chris hums low in his throat, tightening his hold on Tom’s neck.

 

“Touch yourself then,” he says, removing Tom’s hand from his shoulder and pushing it between them towards Tom’s cock, “Show me.”

 

This pulls a breathless chuckle from Tom’s lips, but before he speaks, Chris kisses him pointedly, tugging at his hand once more until, wordless and shamefully defeated, Tom wraps his fingers around himself with a small moan.

 

He strokes himself thoroughly, his skin too raw and his erection too tight to prolong his climax much longer, and he brings his free hand to Chris’s cheek, drawing his face closer.

 

“Kiss me, Chris,-”

 

Chris stares at him, his eyes blue and perfect, and that blasted shy smile appears on his lips before he kisses Tom, the same wicked smile that grabbed Tom’s heart in the first place, the one that made him fall-

 

“You should have asked me for that dance,” Tom mutters against the man’s lips, and Chris, he’s a thief, a dirty thief, and he’s a darling, he’s worth it, worth all of it-

 

“You must, I want you to ask me, Chris-”

 

His body pulses, erupting into his own palm, and Chris holds him quietly through it, moving in and out of his rear while holding Tom’s neck, rubbing his thumb behind Tom’s ear.

 

The waves of pleasure gradually calm within his body, and Tom relaxes back into the cushions, slowly letting his eyes fall shut as his muscles unwind with afterglowing relief.

 

Languid seconds pass, and he feels Chris stirring above him.

 

“Tom,-”

 

Tom creases his eyes open, seeing Chris looking down at him, his face strained and his body flushed with heat.

 

“I’m close,” Chris says, licking his lips as he halts his hips for a moment.

 

“Should I pull out when I come?, Or-”.

 

Enveloped with warmth and ease, Tom absently reaches for an abandoned piece of cloth on the table, and cleans his palm on it. When he’s done, he comes to hold Chris’s arms once again.

 

“Just do it, Chris”, Tom tells him, bucking against Chris’s cock, taking all of him inside with a single stroke.

 

“Those tight hips of yours,” Chris hisses at him, then hastily leans backwards to his knees. He places one hand on the sofa’s backrest, then reaches the other arm to untangle Tom’s leg from his waist and bend it over his shoulder.

“Keep the other leg around me,” he says, then begins working his hips to his liking, grinding himself roughly into Tom’s arse, rocking both of their bodies along with his thrusts.

 

“I won’t last much, I’m nearly there-” he pants, changing his angle again to bend over and dip his head closer, kissing Tom unsteadily as he slams into him, and Tom tries to comply, overwhelmed by their wild position.

 

“Oh, Tommy” Chris mutters brokenly, shooting his midsection forward, pushing deeper, and releases a tight grunt.

 

“Sweetheart,” Chris whispers against his cheek, burying his cock deep inside him, releasing his seed into Tom’s flesh.

 

It is so sudden, so unexpected, that little endearment thrown into the air, and Tom’s next breath catches in his throat.

 

Chris takes a few more languid strokes, still hard inside Tom, then draws backwards, pulls himself out, and touches Tom’s cheek with his fingers.

 

“Everything alright?”

 

Breath still catching, body shuddering with strain, and with Chris’s semen warm inside his body, Tom simply grunts in response.

 

Chris releases his leg, and Tom glances down at their disjoined, now sweaty bodies, then gazes once again at Chris’s chest muscles bulging with exertion, at how forceful this man appears to be.

 

The words he blurted out to Chris while he climaxed are swimming into comprehension, and he is not sure what to think or say.

 

“Yes, but I do think we need to get cleaned up,” Tom decides finally, then looks back at Chris, who appears to be searching for signs of discomfort, but Tom keeps his face sober, thinking that this is not the time for additional questions.

 

Chris observes him, the tip of thumb grazing Tom’s jaw.

 

“Yeah, you’re right.” he says, “and afterwards we’ll go to bed?”

 

Tom pauses at this.

 

His roaring thoughts gradually settle down, he feels his shoulders untense, and suddenly, sweet, gentle fatigue envelopes his senses.

 

“Yeah,” he replies timidly, averting his eyes from Chris’s as unexpected bashfulness curves his lips into a small smile.

 

“Then we’ll go to bed.”

  
  


\------------------

  
  


Tom removes the towel from his waist after drying his body, pulls his boxers up his legs, and brushes his teeth.

 

He glances at the mirror before leaving the bathroom, then heads into his bedroom.

 

He finds Chris, now post shower as well, lying on his back on the bed, one arm tucked beneath his head and the other resting on his belly, his eyes closed.

 

While taking the sight of Chris lying peacefully in his bed, Tom slides onto the mattresses, folding both of his arms behind his back.

 

Moments pass, and the only rumble that circles through the room is the sound of their mellowed breaths. Briefly, Tom wonders whether Chris has already fallen asleep, but then the man speaks.

 

“Just tell me you are not in pain.”

 

Tom huffs a closed lipped chuckle.

 

“I’m not in pain, no,” he replies, and the silence returns to rule the space between them.

 

Tom replays the happenings on the evening in his mind, from having a successful dinner together to making the first advance on Chris, to Tom kneeling in front of him, to Chris granting him the same pleasure in return, and eventually to Chris having him in the middle of the living room.

 

Tom creases his forehead as a specific memory rises in his mind.

 

There was this something, this nervousness to Chris’s face before he took Tom in his mouth, and with that image, Tom thinks about a certain question he’s been holding in his stomach for quite a while.

 

Chris has never volunteered any information about the issue, and he fears what Chris’s reply might turn out to be, but this… this Tom wants to know.

 

“Tell me,” Tom says, forming the query in his mind, “have you been with a man before?”

 

_Before having this with me?_

 

From the corner of his eyes, Tom catches Chris staring at the night sky through the window as he considers Tom’s question. Chris clears his throat, preparing to respond, and Tom waits patiently for his reply.

 

“Yes, I have,” Chris answers finally.

 

As if hit by a small dart of toxin, Tom mutedly clenches his jaws together.

 

That had been his initial guess, but Chris had looked so apprehensive before he... And Tom had hoped- , he blinks at the ceiling.

 

_I am an idiot._

 

“A few years ago, I spent some time with this guy,” Chris adds, his body still as he speaks.

 

Tom’s forehead creases in unmanageable thoughtfulness.

 

Who was this man? Who is it that captured Chris’s interest? What did he look like? Was he younger than Chris? Older?

 

Is he somehow still a part of Chris’s life?

 

“Were you a couple?” he asks calmly.

 

Another pause takes place, and Tom waits it with a batted, foolish breath, expecting the worse.

 

“No…, no, we were not,” Chris says quietly, “It was nothing serious.”

 

Chris pulls his arm from his stomach up to his face, and rubs his palm over his eyes.

 

“I had slept with him, yes, but trust me, I’ve done my fair share of mistakes in this area.”

 

Tom listens carefully to the man’s words, unsure what to make of that last, mostly abstract addition.

 

“This though, what we did, without protection I mean-” Chris starts and pauses, pulling at his nose, “that I’ve never done with a man before.”

 

Tom breathes deeply, taking in Chris’s statement.

 

 _At least in this, he is mine,_ a petulant, satisfied voice whispers within him, causing Tom to smirk.

 

“Neither have I,” Tom says, and Chris chuckles softly beside him, infecting Tom with his tender cheer.

 

Chris extracts his arm from beneath his head, and reaches down to hold Tom’s hand with his, making Tom’s chest expand around his heart.

 

Their fingers are not laced together, but indeed, they are holding hands over the sheets, and Tom can’t believe Chris will be leaving tomorrow morning.

 

He squeezes Chris’s palm with his fingers.

 

“Your family comes back this Sunday night, did I get that right?”

 

Wordlessly, Chris nods, and Tom licks his lips, preparing his question. He has to try.

 

“Would you like to come back here tomorrow after work then?”

 

It takes Chris a while to answer, a good chunk of time that causes Tom to try and untangle his hand from Chris’s in disappointment, but Chris intensifies his hold, keeping their hands joined.

 

“I just needed a moment to think it over Tom,” he answers, then - “Yes, I’ll come.”

 

Tom hums softly, swallowing Chris’s hesitation, content with his assent.

 

They say nothing more after this, and Tom continues to ponder about Chris’s past, about sleeping with another man, about making mistakes.

 

He wants to know what Chris was talking about, he speaks so rarely about his personal life, and Tom wants to get to know him better - but at the moment, with his eyelids growing heavy and sensing that they both have exhausted their verbal quota for tonight, he knows that indeed, this is not the right time.

 

 _He’s coming back tomorrow,_ his heart reminds him, and, already semi slurred with sleep, Tom bites his lip, appeased.

 

_I can ask him tomorrow night as well._

 

The air is cool, the night’s darkness is consuming Tom’s mind, and with their hands still lightly joined, with Chris next to him in bed, Tom closes his eyes.

  


\---------------

  
  


Tom opens his eyes.

 

The room is illuminated by an early morning’s white light, with faint light beams spilling through the window, but a bundle of sheets is blocking the sight of the window.

 

There is someone sleeping next to him-

 

Tom blinks.

 

Chris… Chris is here.

 

Squinting, Tom raises himself on his elbow, taking in the disarray of linens ruling his bed, seeing the Chris is sleeping on his side with his back to him, with Tom’s leg pressed against the back of his thighs.

 

He spots a slight movement of the sheets, as Chris’s gentle breathing is moving his chest, but other than that - the room is still, peaceful with the young morning’s calm.

 

As quietly as he can manage, Tom reaches for his cellphone, sees that he beat his alarm in mere minutes, and decides not to go back to sleep and enjoy the the pleasant lull of the apartment instead.

 

He pulls himself into a sitting position, watching Chris’s sleeping figure for a few moments with the faintest of smile on his lips, and eventually lifts his arm towards Chris’s body.

 

Tom lightly caresses the man’s shoulder through the warm sheet cloth, lets his hand travel down to his ribs, then pulls his arm back.

 

With a deep sense of contentment, Tom pulls off the sheets from his body, shifts around, and leaves the bed.

 

The apartment is not very warm, and yet it senses… comfortable, even welcoming as Tom walks down the hall, heading towards the bathroom.

 

He performs his morning ablutions, taking a shower and brushing his teeth, then heads back to his room in order to dress.

 

He extracts fresh undergarments and a pair of trousers out of the cupboard and wears them noiselessly, mindful of not waking the sleeping figure under the blankets.

 

He pulls an elegant shirt out of his closet, draws it over his arms and back, fixes the shirt’s cuffs around his wrists, then slows down as he slips the buttons into place up his chest, gazing at the slowly rising and falling human heap of linens on the bed.

 

Giving one last tug to the shirt’s collar around his neck, Tom walks around the bed towards Chris’s side of the mattress, coming to lean his back on the wall with his hands in his pockets - and looks.

 

There is, in fact, a man sleeping in Tom’s bed, with the soft light beautifully catching his peaceful face.

 

Tom observes Chris’s covered body, remembering their last night’s conduct and exchanged words, and lets his eyelids slowly cover his eyes.

 

How would his mother respond to this, if she knew? And his father?

 

What would they think if they knew about Tiffany, about how intelligent, talented and beautiful she is, and that she is exactly what Tom needs, but not the one he pursues?

 

What would Emma say if she met Chris? Would she accept? Would she approve?

 

 _And you, Thomas, do you approve?,_ Tom’s mind shoots back at him.

_What do you think? What do you feel? Before you consider the others, Do you accept this?_

 

Tom creases his forehead, shakes his head, and opens his eyes abruptly.

 

Soon enough, Chris’s shoulder stirs, and Tom straightens immediately away from the wall. Before he considers his next move, he sits next to Chris’s chest on the bed.

 

“Tom?” Chris rumbles, voice heavy with sleep.

 

“Good morning,” Tom says, quietly enjoying the soft heat radiating from Chris’s body.

 

“Hmm, yeah, good morning” Chris continues to murmur, squinting an eye open, “What time is it? Are you leaving for work?”

 

Tom glances at his cellphone.

 

“It’s seven am, and yes, I am,” he replies, fighting the urge to simply crawl back under the sheets.

 

Chris blinks both of his eyes open, taking in Tom’s figure.

 

“Ok, alright,” he says, the slightly baffled look on his face pulling a chuckle out of Tom’s mouth.

 

_This is so nice. Just nice._

 

“There is food in the fridge. Grab whatever you want, warm it in the microwave, and get yourself something to eat before you head out, ok?”

 

Chris seems to absorb Tom’s words, and then it’s his turn to chuckle.

 

“Yes, ok, thank you, Tommy,” he replies softly, throwing some coy smile onto Tom’s lips.

 

Taking his time before saying something more, Tom places his arm it on Chris’s shoulder, lightly massaging him through the thin blanket.

 

“I left you a key to the apartment on the table, in case you happen return here tonight before I do,” he says.

 

Chris pulls his arm from under the sheet, rubs his eyes with his fingers, then nods at Tom.

 

“Ok, sounds good. Thanks,” he replies, and Tom smiles at him again, unable to hide his contentment.

 

He moves his hand towards Chris’s face, traces his fingers with his jaw, and leans over to him, aiming for his mouth, but Chris averts his face just before Tom manages to kiss him.

 

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he frets lightly, making Tom laugh against his skin.

 

“Fine,” he says through his mirth, kissing Chris’s cheek instead,-

 

_Such a delicate prince._

 

“Such a delicate man.”

 

“Maybe I am,” Chris comments, “We’ll see each other tonight then?”

 

Tom leans back and looks at him one more time, huddled under the covers.

 

“Yes,” he replies, delicately happy.

 

“We will.”

  


\-----------------------

  


Tom closes the apartment’s door behind him, the flat is happy to have Chris, Tom can feel is in his blood, and descends the stairs towards the building’s exit.

 

He wears on his cap and sunglasses, advances to one of the more central streets, and gestures for the first taxi he sees, which responds to his call and pulls over next to the curb.

 

Tom slides into the backseat, he wants the entire space for himself, and names his destination to the driver.

 

He thinks again about the man in his apartment, wonders what he might be doing at the moment, and smiles to himself as he watches the bright sun ruling the morning sky.

 

He imagines how it might feel to come back to his apartment and finding Chris already there, waiting for him at home.

 

 _It really is crazy,_ he thinks, but his heart won’t stop - and Tom already considers what he could prepare for their dinner tonight which might catch Chris’s tastes.

 

 _I will make him miss this,_ he thinks viciously as he remembers that indeed, tomorrow morning Chris will eventually leave.

 

The thought tastes bitter, but the weather is beautiful today, Tom’s throat and lungs are clear, he hasn’t coughed for at least an entire day, and he even considers giving Chris a phone call today, asking for how he’s doing.

  
The sensation is so sweet, Tom feels free, and quietly, timidly, the little boy in his heart wishes for this day to never reach its end.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stand by me, nobody knows,  
> Oh darling, god only knows the way it's gonna be.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Juliet, when we made love, you used to cry.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxfjSnMN88U)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> So, here we are.
> 
> This chapter concludes the third phase of the story, and as a result, it contains plenty of references to previous plot.
> 
> Below are a few important reminders and information pinpoints which anchor the chapter's plot references, I do hope they are helpful. 
> 
> If you still have any questions by the end of the chapter, feel free to write to me. 
> 
> 1\. During the last chapter, Chris showed up in Tom's apartment, intending to spend the night with him. Just before they fell asleep, Tom invited Chris to stay over for another night, an offer which Chris has agreed to.
> 
> 2\. Unfortunately or not, Tom's offer to Chris clashes with the fact that he was supposed to meet with Tiffany during the very night he had offered to spend with Chris.
> 
> 3\. Daniel is Tom's agent. During chapter 13, Daniel tells Tom that he is has received an offer for prestigious role for a new TV series. Tom is excited, but upon learning that this series is to be filmed in the UK while Chris is obligated to remain in the US, which means that he shall be separated from Chris for long months, Tom hesitates with his answer to the role's offer. 
> 
> 4\. Mark was one of Chris's best friends in the past. He was introduced in chapter 3, as a man who suffered from severe cancer, and he passes away from his illness in later chapters. When Chris visits Mark for the first time in the hospital, Tom joins him.
> 
> 5\. This chapter contains many subtle references to the very first chapter of this story. It is nothing crucial to the general understanding of the plot, but I do think that skimming through chapter 1 (which is 600 words long) shall enrich the reading experience. 
> 
> Warnings - 
> 
> This chapter contains intense situations, conversations and thoughts - both conscious and unconscious. 
> 
> No violence occurs, nobody gets harmed.
> 
> I admit, I am quite excited. The next phase of the story, as in the forth, shall be its last, and I will do my best to make it special.
> 
> Have a pleasant reading, may you enjoy this.
> 
> Thank you for reading, 
> 
> Me :)

Chris reverses his car into the parking slot, lifts the handbrake when he’s satisfied with the car’s position, then switches off the engine.

 

He leans forward to survey the old building in front of him, making sure he has found the correct address - when his cell phone rings.

 

Humming under his breath, Chris draws the device out of his bag,  momentarily halting his movements when he identifies the caller’s identity.

 

Pursing his lips and pulling at his nose, Chris glimpses through the windshield once again, then leaves his vehicle and starts heading towards the studio’s offices building.

 

He clears his throat, does his best to clear his mind, and answers the call.

 

“Baby, hey, how are you.”

 

His wife tells him that she feels well, that the weather is excellent. Chris asks her about the kids, and she assures him that they are alright, having fun with their uncles and aunts.

 

At this, Chris smiles, content. He misses them, and he is glad to know they are having some good time away from the city’s hustle.

 

They exchange a few more words, making sure once more that everything is in order with each other, and soon enough - their conversation ends.

 

Chris slips the device back into his backpack, and with his face sealed, he advances towards the studio’s main entrance.

 

It is during those moments that Chris feels lost, that he is not sure which is the greater lie - the truth he has been hiding from his wife, or the one Chris is telling himself when he feels regret for touching another man.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


The man, probably a reporter, enters the small room. When he spots Tom, he approaches him with a soft smile.

 

“Hey Tom, I’m Alan, it’s a pleasure,” he says, extending his arm for a handshake which Tom accepts with a nod and a matching smile.

 

“How are you doing mate, good to meet you too.”

 

They part their hands, and Alan turns to arrange his notes while Tom receives a small microphone from one of the local technicians and attempts to pin it onto his shirt’s breast pocket.

 

He fumbles with the small device for a moment, grunting when the small pin slips through his fingers, falling into his lap. He picks up the microphone, inspects it closely, then tries to reattach it again to his shirt’s front when he senses someone coming to stand in his immediate proximity.

 

“Let me help you with this,” Alan says, gently prying the little microphone away from Tom’s fingers, ordering the small pin into the correct position.

 

Taken by surprise at the man’s gesture, Tom purses his lips and remains silent.  Alan leans forward then, maneuvering the device over Tom’s shirt, and Tom instinctively leans his head backwards to avoid the somewhat crude intrusion into his personal space, blinking as he inhales a small whiff of the man’s cologne.

 

“They make them too small, don’t they,” Alan offers as he slowly but effortlessly applies the microphone into its right place, squeezing Tom’s shoulder when he’s done.

 

“Yeah, sometimes they do, thank you,” Tom mutters, smoothing back his shirt and tugging at his jacket when Alan steps back to his chair with another elegant smile.

 

Few minutes pass in silence as the staff man brings his camera into focus, with Tom folding his arms over his chest, idly eyeing the room while waiting for the preparations to be completed.

 

“Alright, shall we start then?” Alan says when one of the men cues him to begin.

 

“Yes,” Tom replies, clearing his throat, sensing momentarily out of focus when the scent of Alan’s cologne hits his nose once again.

 

“Give me the best you have.”

  


\------------

  


When the interview is completed, Tom unpins the microphone from the dash of his shirt, places it on the chair next to him as he stands up, nodding at Alan before he moves towards the room’s exit.

 

“I’m taking a break downstairs, getting some fresh air, alright?” he informs the present superior, then heads to the nearest elevator.

 

He eyes the sky after closing the door behind him, breathing deeply, uneasily, when he feels for his cellphone in his pocket.

 

_I’ll make it quick, quick and harmless,_ Tom tells himself, bringing his device into view and typing in the contact’s name.

 

His fingers hesitate, hovering over the screen, but Tom forces his fingertip to touch the Call button, and with his belly sensing heavy and his spine tingling, Tom licks his lips as the slow dialing tone starts ticking in his ear.

 

A slight rattle of muffled communication is heard over the line, and Tom clenches his fingers over the device as his call is answered.

 

“Tom?”

 

“Hey Tiff, yeah, it’s me, what’s up?”

 

“I’m alright, had a bit of bad traffic on my way to work this morning,” she replies, “but, I’ve had my coffee, I’m much better now.”

 

Tom asks her a few more casual questions, delaying the true purpose for which he had called, but eventually the lady asks him the pointed, specific question he is cowardly trying to postpone.

 

“So, when will I see you tonight Tommy?”

 

_Tommy,_ Tom thinks, hearing Chris’s voice in his mind calling him so instead of Tiffany's.

 

_Tell her._

 

"Tiff, I'm sorry but- I'm not feeling like myself today," he says, knowing this, at least, to be true.

 

"Truth is that I would rather meet you after I get some proper rest," he finishes with a tight exhale.

 

A long pause passes over the line after this, and Tom musters his patients as he waits for Tiffany to respond.

 

"Has something happened?"

 

Tom purses his lips and swallows some extra saliva down his throat.

 

_Yes_ , his inner child throws at her, _I'm spending some time with Chris tonight._

 

"Nothing out of the ordinary, I'm simply more tired than usual and I'd like to collect my strength before we meet," he replies, a claim which matches the reality as well, then-

 

"Would you like to meet this following Monday night?"

 

Today is Thursday. A period of these few days should indeed be sufficient for Tom to relax after his time with Chris. He Knows he shall need some quiet time for himself after his and Chris’s time together is over.

 

Tiffany's slow breaths suggest that she is quietly considering Tom's offer.

 

"Tom, do you remember that Thor’s Q&A press relations event is taking place this Tuesday night?"

 

With the device pressed to his ear, even though the Tiffany cannot see him, Tom nods.

 

"I do. We can spend Monday night together," he says, the words tasting peculiar, "and be all set for Tuesday night. We can manage."

 

“Well,” Tiffany starts, “I suppose it’s ok.”

 

“Are you sure everything is alright with you? Is it that cough again?” She asks him after another pause.

 

“I just need some rest Tiff, that’s all,” Tom replies quietly.

 

_Please, just let me have this._

 

“Alright Tom,” the lady says, “alright. You get better and I will see you this Monday night.”

 

“Thank you Tiff,” Tom says, and soon, after a few more endearments, their conversation ends and he tucks the device back into his jeans pocket with a sigh.

 

With no one accompanying the small yard but himself, Tom pinches his nose and rubs his eyes, his mind rushing, distantly thoughtful.

 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly feeling cold and stiff, cringing when sensing his throat beginning to sting.

 

Tom covers his mouth, bracing himself and glancing at the bright sky one more time before the throbbing cough attacks him, squeezing both his throat and his eyes shut.

 

When his cough finally eases, Tom wipes his mouth with the back of his palm, breathing through his nose until his windpipe calms.

 

He suddenly feels the urge to try and call Chris, hear his voice and be secretly reassured, but the noise of approaching footsteps calls Tom back from his thoughts.

 

“Hey there,” a voice calls behind him.

 

Clearing his throat with haste, Tom turns around. He sees that reporter, Alan, advancing in his direction until he comes to lean on one of the building’s concrete pillars adjacent to Tom.

 

“You’re feeling ok?”

 

Tom observes the man, taking in his figure.

 

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

 

According to his rough estimation, it appears that Alan is two or three years Tom’s senior, shorter than him, yet his built is firm and broad.

 

“Perhaps you should wear something heavier with that cough then, keep yourself warm,” Alan suggests, pulling a box of cigarettes out of his back pocket, drawing one into his mouth, then holding the box out in an offer to Tom, who glances at the presented packet only for a moment.

 

“No, thank you.”

 

With a nod, Alan slips the box back into his pocket, inhaling through his cigarette.

 

Moments pass in mutual silence, with Tom scenting the refreshing cool breeze, quietly aware of the other man’s presence as the light of the gentle sun is soaking him with welcomed warmth.

 

“It’s so strange, how life can get so confusing when it’s such a beautiful day outside, huh,” Alan comments suddenly, drawing Tom’s gaze back to him, making him wonder just how much Alan managed to pick up from his conversation with Tiffany.

 

“I’m not sure really,” Tom answers cautiously, pulling his light jacket tighter around himself.

 

“Yeah, you know what, you’re right,” Alan chuckles at him, “perhaps it’s not so strange after all.”

 

Tom sends him a faint smile, watches him breathing white smoke into the air, then returns to look at the bright sky, and says nothing more.  

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


Tom inserts the key into the door’s lock slot, ticks it sideways, and with a tingle of excitement in his belly, he pushes the door open, stepping into the apartment.

 

He lowers his backpack to the table, his eyes serving the livingroom, then the kitchen, and lastly - the hall leading to his bedroom.

 

“Chris?” Tom calls, but receives no answer.

 

Disappointed, Tom hums to himself. He hadn’t succeeded in catching Chris for a phone call today, and he had hoped to return home and find Chris waiting for him here, dozing on the couch or preparing himself something to drink in the kitchen.

 

He removes his jacket and hangs it over one of the table chairs, and instead of considering going out for a jog or indulging in another one of his regular habits, Tom wonders again what he might prepare for their dinner tonight.

 

He is contemplating whether he should text Chris and ask him for any preference or simply go for whatever he thinks is the best option when a muffled sound of an incoming call rings from his bag.

 

Hoping the call to be from Chris, Tom manages to fish for his device out of his bag just in time, but he identifies someone else’s name flashing on the screen instead.

 

“Daniel,” Tom mutters idly, running his fingers through his hair in discontent, grunting back to the empty apartment when his rational reminds him that _You have to take this._

 

“Yeah, ok, fine” Tom grumbles, sliding his finger to accept the call.

 

“Hey Dan, good evening,” he greets her, composed, “how have you been.”

“Hey Tom, good evening to you too, I’m good, and yourself? Is this a good time? Do you have a few minutes?”

 

“Yes, definitely,” Tom tells her, eyeing the kitchen as he answers, “talk to me.”

 

“Ok, great,” Daniel replies, “I’m going to speak directly Tom, alright?”

 

“Of course, say what you need Dan,” Tom answers, tensing despite himself. He knows what his agent is about to tell him.

 

“Well, Renly called me yesterday, and he informed me that they are about to start the pre-shooting rehearsals for ‘Miles from home’ within a little less than two weeks, and he asked me about you,” Daniel says, then pauses.

 

“Tom, I need an answer about this.”

 

Tom clicks his fingers at his side, his stomach heavy with burden.

 

“I know Dan, I know you do.”

 

Daniel’s huff stings Tom’s ear through the line.

 

“God, Tom, I wish I know what is it that is holding you back. This is… I mean, gah. You know exactly what this means for you Tom.”

 

Tom inhales deeply through his nose.

 

_You don’t know what it’s like, sweetheart. My weak heart keeps me close to him, and I am torn._

 

“I’ll give you my final answer in a few days Dan, ok?”

 

Daniel heaves a small groan.

 

“I will be able to hold him for a while Tom, and I already have plenty of alternative potential roles for you positioned here in the United States, but… What can I say, I do hope you will decide to go for this opportunity.”

 

“I see your point,” Tom says, sensing somewhat impatient with her, “and I appreciate your effort with this issue, Dan, I really do.”

 

“Hmm, you’re welcome Tom. Whatever it is that you are considering, I just hope you’ll make the right decision with this.”

 

_And you’re just dead curious to know my reasons, aren’t you_ , Tom thinks, but keeps his tongue tamed in his mouth.

 

“Let’s discuss this again in ten days or so, alright?” He asks her, directing their debate to a conclusion.

 

“Yes, I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” Daniel says, “Have a great evening.”

 

They exchange another good night bidding, and with a silent click to the virtual button, Tom ends their conversation.

 

He is about to toss his cellphone over the table, wishing to be rid of it until the following morning, but the small notifications bulb at the front of his device informs Tom of a new text message.

 

‘They are keeping me, I’m a little late’, Chris writes to him.

 

_Of course you are,_ Tom thinks, a bitter pill of ambivalence and worry gnawing inside him after his chat with his agent.

 

His actual reply to Chris is plain and gentle, though, asking the man to drive safe, and show up hungry.

 

Tom will wait for him until he comes.

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


When Tom hears the door’s lock finally turning, he halts his actions, listening, standing still in front of the sink in the kitchen, a wet, soap dripping pot in his hand.

 

He hears the door opens, followed by slow thuds of steps advancing into the apartment, then the swish of cloth as Chris removes his heavier clothes and places them on one of the table chairs.

 

A small smile catches his mouth as he hears Chris resumes walking, this time towards the kitchen, and finally turns around to see him resting his shoulder over the kitchen’s door jamb.

 

“Hey,” Chris says, cheeks flushed from the cooler night air, a shy curve to his lips.

 

“Hey,” Tom murmurs in return, washing the last drops of soap from said pot, then carefully placing it in the dish dryer stand.

 

A moment passes, and Tom hears Chris entering the kitchen, coming to stand beside him, propping his side on the marble.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I made us some dinner,” Tom says with a light smirk, now cleansing another bowl.

 

“Mmm,” Chris comments, bringing his palm to rest on Tom’s waist, leaning closer to him.

 

“That’s nice,” Chris continues, nuzzling Tom’s temple, then kissing his cheek, “Is everything ok with you?”

 

“Yes,” Tom replies, content as he is immersed in attention.

 

“Great, I’ll take a short trip to the shower then,” Chris says, squeezing Tom’s hip bone, then leaning back to his standing position.

 

“I’m sorry for being late, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom murmurs, placing the wet bowl next to the pot on the dish stand, seeing Chris nodding quietly and heading out of the kitchen from the corner of his eye.

 

“I’m sorry you are late as well.”

  
  


\-------------

  
  


Tom wipes his hands clean with the kitchen cloth, all dishes now clean, and leaves the kitchen for the living room.

 

Hearing the water running in the bathroom, Tom spots Chris’s backpack lying on the kitchen table. Assuming that Chris will need to use his bag after he finishes showering, Tom pulls the bag to him, intending to haul it on his back, but pauses as the bag’s opened top cover exposes some of the bag’s content to Tom’s vision.

 

Stuffed inside the bag, a peculiar book is found, bearing the unexpected title of ‘Basic Mathematics - Rules of Arithmetic’.

“Arithmetic?” Tom whispers, his forehead creased in wonder.

 

_What does Chris have to do with this topic?_ Tom muses, pulling the book out of the bag, intending to go through its pages, but pauses again as he spots yet another book lying behind the first one.

 

Curious to no end, Tom draws both of the books out of the bag, holding them in front of his eyes, inspecting their covers.

 

‘Earth’s solar system, its structure, and major discoveries from the 21’s century’, the second book’s title reads.

 

Tom goes through some pages from the books, his mind wrapping itself around the idea of Chris taking interest in a topic such as Algebra, and eventually folds back the books into Chris’s bag, unwilling to be caught going through Chris’s belongings in the middle of the living room.

 

Tom hauls the bag over his back, turns around, but once again - halts his movements as he sights a few more unexpected objects placed on the table.

 

Not one, but three chocolate bars are piled next to each other over the tableland, the same snack Tom had bought for himself during that afternoon he had spent with Chris not so many weeks ago next to that small cafeteria.

 

Positioned beside the snacks is an appealing looking plastic bottle, its contents looking juicy and smoothly dense - a fruit shake.

 

Huffing a flattered chuckle, Tom rearranges the bag over his back. Those little gifts - he’s come to love them more than he should.

 

With a small grin, Tom carries Chris’s bag to his bedroom, placing it just beside the bed with a certain thought in his mind.

 

Chris reminds him of a loaded gun bullet, boiling, restlessly waiting, too shy to be shot.

  


\------------------------

  


After Tom steals a swift shower for himself as well, they choose to have their dinner in the living room tonight as well, quietly watching some mindless television as they eat, both him and Chris hungry enough to scrap empty the entire bowl of food Tom has prepared.

 

When they are done with their food and the table is cleared of dishes, they resume their position on the sofa. Tonight, Tom refuses to hesitate as he did the night before, and sits right next to Chris, lightly touching his knee as he idly watches the television’s screen.

 

At Tom’s touch, Chris brings his arm around Tom’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

 

“You smell good,” Chris says lightly, brushing his nose against Tom’s temple, then nestling it along his hair, “the food was great, thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Tom mutters with a smile and tilts his head, allowing Chris’s gentle caresses, petting his knee in return.

 

A few minutes pass in comfortable silence as they both relax from their meal, until Tom’s curiosity nudges him to ask about what he wishes to know.

 

“Why are you reading a book about Arithmetic?”

 

Chris blinks at the television, no doubt absorbing Tom’s blunt question and trying to assemble his response.

 

“I saw your books when I carried your bag to the bedroom,” Tom explains.

 

“I see,” Chris says quietly, then slowly clears his throat.

 

“Well, to make a long story short,” he says after a while, “I used to be quite a lazy student during my high school years, I thought I was completely incapable of learning anything technical or scientific, and I’ve…”

 

Chris pauses at this, his eyebrows furrowing thoughtfully.

 

“I find myself wishing to know more-, I mean, I want to know more than just being an actor, and this, um, this field of knowledge, math, is so different from what we do at work, you know? So, I’m...I bought some basic books, trying to learn a little from reading them.”

 

Tom observes Chris’s face, taken by his honest sharing.

 

“For how long have you been thinking about this?”

 

“Ah, I am not sure really,” Chris replies, considering, “for a few months I believe.”

 

_For a few months_ , Tom thinks. Something about this period of time clicks in his mind as in for a hint for another matter, but he is not sure what exactly his instinct is aiming for.

 

“And the book about our solar system?”

 

At this, Chris bites his lower lips, looking bashful.

 

“Space is just… well, Space is just cool, you know? I am not sure how to describe it, I mean, it is so very vast, practically endless, and we are so tiny… it takes my mind, it’s captivating.”

 

Tom looks at Chris, seeing him contemplating, weighing his words.

 

He had no idea about this line of interest that Chris holds. There is so much beyond what Chris lets or perhaps even leads others to believe, and at the moment, Tom can only think of this notion as attractive.

 

“That’s… It sounds great Chris, truly interesting,” Tom tells him with a small grin, “I mean, actually taking your time to read about math, that’s admirable.”

 

“Thank you,” Chris says carefully, as if uncertain of Tom’s positive reaction.

 

There is this something about Chris’s expression at that moment, about that slight pout to his mouth and innocent glint to his eyes that simply pulls Tom’s strings just the right way - and he starts laughing, covering his mouth with his fist at his unexpected glee.

 

Chris stares at him, his eyebrows rising in confusion, a quiet response which only makes Tom laugh harder into his palm.

 

“I’m sorry Chris, I can’t help it,” Tom says between his giggles, “you’re just cute.”

 

“Cute?” Chris asks him.

 

_Yes,_ Tom thinks, _coming home after work expecting to find you waiting for me here, conversing intimately with you, knowing that you shall sleep in my bed tonight -_

 

On a pure impulse, Tom reaches his arms to Chris, wraps them around his neck, and pulls them both into a warm embrace, with Tom’s nose resting against Chris’s neck.

 

“Charming,” Tom mutters through his smile, “I meant charming.”

 

Next to him, Tom hears Chris sighing, bringing his arms to Tom’s waist, drawing him near.

 

Chris holds him, running his hands up and down Tom’s back, and kisses Tom’s shoulder.

 

“You’re teasing me,” Chris says in a low voice, his hands finding their way beneath Tom’s shirt, feeling the skin of his shoulder blades, the ridges of his spine.

 

Tom’s blood responds both to Chris’s touch and hinted challenge, rushing warmly through his body, urging him to bite down on Chris’s neck.

 

Chris hisses at the provocation, shifts his arms to caress the crease of Tom’s buttocks as he  searches for Tom’s mouth, and kisses him.

 

Tom returns the kiss with all he has, sliding his tongue through Chris’s lips, licking his mouth, tasting him, moaning as Chris squeezes his rear with both of his hands.

 

A pant falls out of Tom’s lips, his cock already hard and calling for attention inside his sweatpants.

 

“I can’t hold myself back like this,” Chris growls into their kiss, his hands leaving Tom’s rear in order to circle his waist, holding him tightly and shifting them both to lie on the sofa in a single motion, covering Tom’s body with his.

 

“Chris,” Tom whimpers as his back hits the cushions, his legs pushed apart by Chris’s knees then pulled up to encircle his waist.

 

Everything happens so fast, moments ago they were calmly talking to each other, and now, both still fully clothed, Chris is moving between Tom’s legs, his hard cock grounding against the crease of Tom’s arse.

 

_He’s so fierce_ , Tom thinks, his senses taken with the rough press of their bodies, _the way he holds me_ , _so fierce_ -

 

“Tommy-,” Chris grunts, his breath hot against Tom’s ear, “baby, I want to have you,-”

 

A hacked grunt leaves Tom’s lips at the words, shivers traveling through his body.

 

“Chri-, Chris,” he pants, overwhelmed, planting a shaky kiss near Chris’s ear as he swallows, “Let’s go to the bedroom, ok?”

 

Chris slows his pace and dips his waist, crowding their groins together, drawing small circles over Tom’s arm with his thumb.

 

“Ok, ok,” he says, face flushed while bracing on his arms, “whatever you prefer.”

 

Tom props himself on his elbows and unwraps his legs, stretching his neck. He eyes Chris, his shirt hanging carelessly around his chest, glances down over his own clothes, now rumpled over his body, evidence for their unruly heat.

 

He feels that just like yesterday, while assuming almost the same position on the couch, any intelligible words are robbed from him.

 

“Thank you,” he mutters, heaving through a breathy, blushing smirk, “I was thinking that watching the television is a waste of time anyway.”

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


Chris follows close behind him, their bare feet sounding low thuds on the floor as they enter Tom’s bedroom.

 

Just like during their very first night together, Tom stands in front of his bed, pulling his shirt over his head, with Chris standing behind him, following suit.

 

He removes his sweatpants as well, sucking in a breath when two arms circle him from behind and come to rest on his stomach, pulling him backwards until Chris’s erection presses against his backside.

 

“You’re pretty, very pretty,” Chris says quietly, his nose brushing the small hairs on Tom’s neck, grinding his hips once.

 

Tom’s eye fall shut, his teeth biting down on his lower lip.

 

_So many compliments,_ he thinks with a mental hiss, and turns around into Chris’s arms, reaching to kiss him, to keep him silent.

 

Chris advances them both to the bed, leading Tom to lie on his back, resuming their previous position as he comes to lie on top of him.

 

He kisses Tom, a short, gentle kiss, then draws himself southwards, leveling on his knees as he tugs down Tom’s briefs, pulling them down his thighs.

 

Tom reaches to Chris’s groin in response, attempting to remove his boxers as well, but Chris stops him, bending down to kiss Tom’s chest.

 

“In a few moments,” Chris tells him, mouthing Tom’s nipple, his navel, then finally - his hip bones, leaving Tom to stare down at him when he realizes what Chris intends to do.

 

“Oh,” Tom breathes dumbly, propping himself on his elbows, wanting to see Chris doing this.

 

Chris kisses his lower stomach, tickles Tom as his nose grazes his skin, then too quietly, while gripping his thighs, takes Tom’s cock into his mouth in a single stroke.

 

“Ah, yeah, Chris -” Tom rasps, his lips pressed tight, reaching to touch Chris’s head, combing his fingers through his hair.

 

Chris moves his head, his lips traveling up and down Tom’s length, circling his tongue around the tip of Tom’s cock, and Tom parts his lips in a sigh, drunk with the wet, enveloping heat and the sight in front of him.

 

Chris sucks him intently, quietly, concentrated on his task at hand, using his tongue and lips in measured amounts, the muffled sound of his breaths audible to Tom’s ears.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Tom whispers, drawing a lock of hair behind Chris’s ear.

 

At this, Chris pauses his motions, wiping his mouth as he looks at him, his eyes dark and unclear.

 

“You too,” Chris tells him, Tom can’t see whether he is smiling or not, but then Chris licks him again, swallowing Tom’s cock back into his mouth.

 

Cold wind slips through the window, caresses Tom’s bare chest and face, a contrast to the warmth of a man sheltering his lower body, and with a sudden lump in his throat, Tom lets his head fall back onto the pillow, his mind far and his heart beating.

 

“I’m close,” Tom mutters idly, his own voice strange in his ears in the darkened room.

 

Chris pauses again at this, and Tom uses the opportunity to calm his breath, vaguely staring at the night sky through the window.

 

He feels his leg being propped up, bent over Chris’s shoulder, then timidly, two fingers approach his entrance, slicked with what Tom assumes to be Chris’s saliva.

 

Tom bites his lip when one of them prods at his flesh, gasping when it slips inside him.

 

“Oh, you’re-, uh” he murmurs incoherently, moaning low in his throat when Chris wraps his lips over his cock again, sucking him down in a smooth, slow motion.

He sucks him slowly, sliding his finger in and out of Tom’s flesh, still so quiet with his motions, then adds a second finger to his ministrations.

 

“I’m close, Chris, I mean it,” Tom tells him when his knees begin to shake, his cock hard and tight down Chris’s mouth.

 

Chris lets him slip out of his mouth, kissing the inside of Tom’s thigh.

 

“Go on,” he says over his skin, his voice gentle and his fingers deep inside Tom, pulling, devouring, then swallows him back inside.

 

“Oh, god,” Tom grunts, his body sloshing with pleasure and sensation.

 

With his head curved into the pillow, Tom sends both of his arms downwards, his eyes tightly shut as he wishes to savor this moment, tracing his finger over Chris’s face-

 

_Stay with me, stay here,-_

 

Tom’s eyes flutter open with a silent gasp, his fingers digging into Chris’s scalp, and he comes, hard and harsh, his seed flowing into Chris’s mouth-

 

_Don’t leave tomorrow, I love you, I do-_

 

Tom throws his head to the side, biting hard on his lip lest a word, any word, might slip out of his mouth.

 

Below him, Chris massages his thigh, removes his lips from Tom’s length and plants gentle kisses below his navel. He unhooks Tom’s leg from his shoulder, causing Tom to whimper at his cramping muscles when he does so.

 

When his body ceases to shiver, Tom turns his stare to the ceiling, his breath uneven through his dry, parted lips.

 

Chris moves up Tom’s body, returning to kiss his shoulder, his erection pressing against Tom’s stomach through his boxers.

 

“Turn on your stomach, sweetheart,” Chris tells him, nuzzling his jaw.

 

Blinking at the fond request, a distant part of Tom reminds him that he would prefer to remain on his back, but wordlessly, Tom turns to lie on his belly, hearing Chris removing his last undergarments as he does so.

 

The scent of night rain is tickling his nose and the constant buzz of twilight animals is touching his ears, and Tom braces himself as two hands land over his waist, not drawing him to his knees this time, but rather curving his hips upwards, a mere height above the mattress.

 

He senses the bedding shifting below him as Chris fetches the oil, then steadies himself behind Tom's body, one of his arms balancing him next to Tom’s head, and the other slicking his length, then holding his rear in place.

 

“I thought about this today,” Chris murmurs from above him, pressing his cock to Tom’s entrance, “about taking you.”

 

“Ah,” Tom whimpers when Chris penetrates him, slow and steady, his jaws clenched together, unable to speak.

 

“Oh, baby,” Chris sighs, gripping Tom’s waist and beginning to move his hips in languid, thorough strokes.

 

Tom’s eyes are sewn shut against the soft linen of the pillow, his teeth are clenched together as his throat feels crowded and tight, and he replies none.

 

Chris comes to hold the back of Tom’s neck and quickens his thrusts, driving his cock into him, the slapping sounds of skin filling the room.

 

“I won’t last,” Chris hisses at him, rocking his pelvis against Tom’s arse with growing intensity, “you’re so tight, every time.”

 

He continues to rock into him, taking hold of the bed’s headboard when the rhythm of his body requires more leverage, heaving the bed along with his thrusts.

 

Tom grunts against the strain, grasping the sheets as the creases and thumps of the bed against the wall build constantly, he can hardly think when Chris takes him like this, so harsh and demanding-

 

“You’re lovely, Tommy,” Chris pants behind him, thrusting sharply into Tom, once, twice more - and then he comes, spilling into Tom's body with a thick moan, his low voice rumbling through the dark room.

 

His hold on Tom’s waist loosens, allowing Tom to lower his midsection back onto the bed, not before Chris claims his additional last strokes, slow and deep.

 

Chris slips out of him eventually, still leaning on his arm while caressing Tom’s lower back with his palm.

 

After moments of silent, gentle caressing, while Tom listens to Chris’s breath as it gradually mellows, he speaks.

 

“Sometimes you speak so sharply, bluntly, and other times,-” Chris says, Tom turns to see him shaking his head out of the corner of his eye, “you’re so quiet,” he finishes, then bends to kiss Tom’s shoulder blade, and lies on his back next to Tom, folding his arms beneath his head.

 

“I wish I understood you better,” he murmurs.

 

Slowly, Tom turns around, gathering himself to a sitting position, glancing at Chris's prone form as he does so.

 

He bends over to level himself with Chris's head, his movement causing Chris to draw his arm away from his eyes, looking at Tom as he nears him.

 

"It was very good," Tom says, tracing Chris's chest with his hand, "I loved it."

 

With Chris gazing into his eyes, Tom leans to press their mouths together.

 

"I'm going to get myself clean, Ok?"

 

Chris nods, and Tom leaves the bed, naked, heading to his closet, grabbing a fresh towel and wrapping it around his waist.

 

He leaves the room, enters the adjacent bathroom, and steps into the bathtub. He hisses when the first ice cold water touches his calves, but soon the water boil, and Tom dips his face under the water.

 

He lets the steaming flow drench his body, runs his fingers through his soaked hair, and closes his eyes.

 

His breaths are still uneven, and he tries to calm them, inhaling deeply, and with Chris’s semen trailing down his thighs, Tom cleanses himself.

 

He waits patiently for the soap to be washed away from his skin, and when his mouth begins to quiver, Tom covers his lips with his palm, trying to push down the lump in his throat back to the depths of his stomach.

 

_How will I leave him? How will I fly to Europe and not see him for months? How will I give up on him?_

 

His eyes begin to sting, and Tom presses them tightly shut, cursing under his breath.

 

_When will I see him again after he leaves tomorrow? How will I get over this when I sleep with my girlfriend? When I love-_

 

A low moan escapes his lips, and luke warm tears win over, flowing evenly over Tom’s cheeks, somehow distinct from the moisture covering his face.

 

_Will he forget me? If I take the part and work in England? Will he put all of this behind him? Move on with… his wife?_

 

“Damn it, damn all of it,” he whimpers, and he bares his teeth against the skin of his palm, crying silently, his belly shaking with his gentle sighs.

 

Warm steam blurs his vision, enveloping his bare body and rising over the walls tiles’, and Tom lingers, hanging in place as he waits for his body to calm, for his breaths to settle.

 

He rubs his face with the back of his hand, soaks his eyes with warm water, and pulls his nose dry.

Tom steps out of the bathtub, wiping his face with the towel, then the rest of his body. He wraps the towel around his waist again, and glimpses at the mirror before he leaves the bathroom, making sure his eyes are not too puffy or swollen.

 

When he enters his bedroom, he is grateful to find that only the small night lamp is on, leaving the room mostly dark, but also confused when he sees that the bed is empty.

 

He steps back to glance at the hallway, and when he hears clinks of glass coming from the kitchen he realizes that Chris went to help to himself to some water.

 

With a mild hum, Tom re-enters the room and helps himself back into his night clothes.

 

He slips under the sheets, turns on his side, and slowly relaxes until he can hear the timid buzzes of the night once again.

 

He listens carefully as Chris walks down the hall, then steps into the room, eventually coming to lie on the mattress.

 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Tom asks him.

 

“Yeah, I was just a little thirsty,” Chris answers, shifting next to him.

 

Silence transpires between them, and Tom considers turning over to lie on his back and hold Chris’s hand before they go to sleep, but fears of another surge of emotions taking over him.

 

He can’t bare the thought of Chris watching him being brought down to a weakened state again, whether teary or not.

 

He is battling himself mentally, the reluctance towards his possible emotional reaction against the thought of being estranged while Chris is lying so close next to him, when he senses the mattress stirring beneath and a hand coming to rest on his hip bone, tracing down to his stomach.

 

Chris nears him until his chest is pressed to Tom’s back, his thighs brushing Tom’s from behind, and plants a small kiss over Tom’s spine.

 

“Good night,” he whispers over Tom’s skin, settling his head over the below.

 

Tom clasps his jaws together, the sensation of Chris pressed close to him both wonderful and painful at the same time.

 

“Good night,” he mutters back, the weight of Chris’s arm draped over his waist moving along with his breaths.

 

He does not fall asleep for quite some time, whether on purpose or not - Tom is not sure, and only when Chris’s breaths even into a steady, mild rhythm and his limbs go limp, Tom covers Chris’s palm with his, gently stroking his fingers for long moments while staring out the window.

 

“Good night, prince,” he mouths into the darkness, keeps their fingers entwined, and Tom closes his eyes.

  
  
  


\---------------------------

  
  
  


Chris drains the contents of the cup into his mouth in a single sweep, then refills it for another round of water. He is thirsty.

 

He places the cup into the sink when he feels saturated, then heads back to Tom’s bedroom.

 

He finds the room still lit only by the night lamp he left to shed some minimal light, recognizes that Tom has already slipped back into the bed, and moves to lie on the mattress as well.

 

He lies on his side, looking at Tom’s back turned to him.

 

He wonders wordlessly whether Tom’s silence is the result of their intense sexual conduct, or whether his words had startled Tom with their honesty.

 

He remembers he had not asked for permission for penetration, nor to finish inside Tom without protection tonight, and Chris frowns.

 

_You should work on this communication issue between you two_ , his mind admonishes, and Chris sighs deeply through his nose, sensing again like a clueless child.

 

It is nice to have Tom sleeping beside him in bed. More than nice.

 

Carefully, Chris shifts closer to him, sliding his arm over Tom’s warm stomach.

 

_Talk, say something,_ Chris thinks but does not say, sliding next to Tom’s body until he is comfortable behind him, and kisses Tom’s spine.

 

“Good night,” he says.

 

“Good night,” Tom replies after a moment of silence, and Chris closes his eyes at the quiet, reserved reply.

 

_What should I do with you, Tom?_

 

Bitterness touches Chris’s stomach, tinged with jealousy.

 

_Would you have been happier had I never touched you?_

 

Chris bites his tongue, but soon enough exhaustion and warmth take over his senses, and with the thump of his heart in his ears and Tom’s skin beneath his arm, Chris’s eyes fall shut, and as darkness engulfs him, he tries to rest.

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


Chris is asleep.

 

But, if indeed he is asleep, if that is the truth and Chris is not lying, how is it possible that he feels the night’s passage of time?

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


He is sitting on some kind of a thin, coarse mattress, with his legs hanging in the air.

 

The sheets covering the small cot are very faintly colored, and the linen itself feels stiff, as if it had been washed over and over again, many times before.

 

The walls surrounding him are white, there is almost no color to the room, and when he looks, there is a curtain behind his small cot, as if blocking anyone else from seeing him.

 

He knows this place… This is… It’s that hospital he used to visit-

 

Chris is sitting in the middle of a hospital room.

 

“Chris?”

 

Chris turns around immediately at the sound, gasping in surprise when he recognizes the man who called his name.

 

“Mark?”

 

Mark!

 

His friend cocks his head at him, as if amused to see Chris here.

 

“Chris, what are you doing here?”

 

Chris smiles back at him. He’s missed him, missed his old friend.

 

“I’ve come to visit you,” he replies.

 

Mark’s face is still pale, his cheekbones are prominent, but Chris is happy to see him. It has been so long.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Mark smiles sadly at him, shaking his head.

 

“It’s been a little difficult, with all the changes in my life,” he says, his face thoughtful, “I hope I made the right choices.”

 

“You followed your heart,” Chris tells him fervently.

 

He wants to reach out to him, to embrace Mark and tell him that everything is ok, but his body feels too heavy to move.

 

“Who is this, over there?”, Mark suddenly asks him, gesturing behind Chris with his chin.

 

_Who?_ , Chris thinks, his gaze following Mark’s direction, his lips parting in wonder when he spots the man at the end of the hall, lying on the hospital’s bench with his back to them, his body rising and falling gently, as if asleep.

 

Those curls…

 

“It’s Tom,” Chris whispers absently, his brows furrowing when he remembers that indeed, Tom had accompanied him to his first visit he paid to the hospital when he had learned about Mark’s illness, had waited for him outside of Mark’s room.

 

“It’s Tom,” Chris says again, looking back at Mark now, warm blush covering his neck.

 

Does Mark know about him and Tom? About what they have been doing? Will he sympathize with Chris’s actions? Hadn’t Mark chosen to live with a man instead of his wife?

 

“Is he with you?” Mark asks him, and Chris only stares at him, dumbfounded.

 

_Is he with me?_

 

“No?” Mark continues, “Is he waiting for you to go to him then?”

 

Chris shakes his head at him, his mouth hanging open stupidly, wordless.

 

“I… I don’t know…” Chris mumbles like an infant.

 

“I see,” Mark says, and it is then that Mark’s gaze leaves Chris’s face to inspect his torso, suddenly looking pensive.

 

Confused, Chris follows Mark’s stare, looking down over his own body, frowning when he notices that his only clothing is a white, thin hospital gown.

 

“Chris, are you sick?”

 

Alarmed by the blunt question, Chris looks sharply at Mark, deeply embarrassed.

 

“What? No... No, I am not,” he replies as calmly as possible.

 

When Mark looks doubtful, Chris shakes his head. Mark has to understand this, he must have felt something akin to what Chris is going through.

 

“I am not sick Mark,” Chris says earnestly, swallowing hard down his throat.

 

“I simply haven’t told Elsa yet, ok?”, he says quietly, urgently, “I haven’t told her.”

 

All at once, Chris feels his body tensing, the cot he is sitting on sensing even smaller and more rugged than it did mere moments ago.

 

He wants to leave, to get out of this room, wake Tom up and take his hand, find the building’s exit and flee.

But how will he go? What will people say when they see him walking the street wearing nothing but a thin hospital gown, holding hands with Tom?

 

“It’s difficult, I know,” Mark tells him, and Chris closes his eyes, bowing his head to his chest.

 

“It is,” he says, his mouth dry, “it is difficult. I don’t know what to do.”

 

It’s a mistake, he thinks, this gown he’s wearing, it’s a mistake - he can’t be sick.

 

“What should I do?” Chris asks Mark, who looks at him kindly, but says none. Soon, Chris knows, Mark will leave.

 

“Mark,” Chris pleads, wishing that Mark was not sick with cancer, wishing that Mark could stay with him, so Chris could share some of his thoughts, his fears-

 

All he has to do is stand from this bed, this hospital cot, approach Tom, wake him up and…

 

But Chris’s body is so heavy, he can hardly lift his arm.

 

How did this happen? How has he come to be infected with illness? Has he done this to himself?

 

And Tom? Is Tom healthy? Has Chris harmed him too?

 

Is Tom leaving?

 

“What should I do?”

  


\------------

  
  


The mattress quavers beneath him, the sheets are being pulled away from his body-

 

A small whimper reaches his ears, and Tom blinks through the darkness, slowly opening his eyes.  

 

The body next to him stirs, Chris, he is in bed with Tom, and he is moving.

 

Another muffled moan flows through the shadows, and Tom props himself to his elbows, squinting to see the man lying next to him.

 

Chris is lying on his side, facing Tom, his body tense and his hands fisted into the pillow - he is  dreaming.

 

Without thinking, Tom touches Chris’s forearm.

 

“Chris.”

 

This has happened before, Tom remembers. He had seen Chris in the aftermath of a dream during his previous visit to Tom’s apartment, but this - this is different, Tom thinks as he sees Chris’s forehead creased with worry, his lips presses into a thin line as he dreams.

 

“Chris, wake up,” Tom says a little louder when the man fails to respond, shaking Chris’s shoulder gently.

 

At this, Chris’s eyes flutter open with a sharp gasp.

 

Tom stares at him, momentarily transfixed as he still holds Chris’s shoulder.

 

“Are you ok?” he asks gently, unsettled at Chris’s unusual tense expression.

 

Chris blinks at him, unmoving, his first breaths coming as short, shallow pants which gradually settle into deeper exhalations.

 

He turns to lie on his back, his lips parted as he brings his hand to cover his eyes.

 

“God, I’m sorry,” he grunts.

 

Tom watches Chris’s chest rising and falling, then his half covered face, memories resurfacing through his mind.

 

He recalls other distant, tense conversations from the past months which hinted at Chris’s poor sleep, remembers Chris’s general fatigue during the recent months, how Tom woke up to find Chris’s body covered with sweat the last time he had visited, and realization dawns on him.

 

“Are you having bad dreams?”

 

A moment passes, then Chris sighs deeply, but says none.

 

His rational tells him to let it go, that this discussion may only cause embarrassment to Chris, but Tom’s instinct insists on pushing further, that somehow this issue is meaningful.

 

“What were you dreaming about?” He tries again, but only earns himself another grunt from Chris.

 

“Why?”, Chris directs the question back at Tom, removing his palm from his eyes, “What good will it do to talk about this?”

 

Tom looks at him, at the strained expression on Chris’s face, and frowns at this aloofness Chris shows him. He will not be pushed away so easily after their former intimacy.

 

“This has been going on for months, hasn’t it?” Tom replies, “and this is the second time it happens to you while you are sleeping next to me,” he continues, “please tell me.”

 

More silence stretches between them, with Chris gazing at the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

 

“If you must know,” Chris begins, his voice low, “my dre- my dream, it was about Mark.”

 

_Mark,_ Tom thinks, his mind reeling for the person’s identity from his memory.

 

“Mark, your friend? The one we visited in the hospital?”

 

_The one who died from cancer?_

 

“That’s the one,” Chris tells him.

 

“I dreamed I was visiting him again, only you were there too, as if it really was our first visit to him.”

 

Tom remembers that night quite vividly, how distraught Chris had looked after he exited Mark’s room, how quietly he had behaved during the following days, distant and pensive.

 

And now, he dreams about that night again, after all these months, and wakes up with his hands fisted into the sheets and his breath hacked.

 

“Did something happen when you were there with him in that room?”

 

It takes a while for Chris to answer. Tom is not sure whether his eyes are still open or not, but he sees Chris is still awake by the swallowing motions of his throat.

 

“He told me that he left his wife, shortly after he had learned about his illness,” Chris says, licking his lips, “for another man.”

 

Through the darkness of the room, Tom stares at Chris, at his half-lit face, his words’ meaning slowly sinking into Tom’s thoughts.

 

Mark had left his wife for another man? And that… that statement had caused Chris pain?

 

A thought occurs to Tom, one that knots his stomach.

 

“Is he the man you had slept with?”

 

Chris swiftly turns his head in Tom’s direction.

 

“No, he is not,” Chris tells him pointedly, squaring his jaws, “but what he told me...it- it shook me.”

 

Even through the very dim light, Tom sees Chris clenching his fist, his stare heavy and severe.

 

“I had looked at you before, but after this, as the days passed, I found myself … considering notions I thought I had left behind me, and then I- I started driving you home after work, I wanted to take you out for drinks, b-buy you gifts.”

 

Practically hypnotized by the unexpected flow of rare information, Tom is frozen in place, each word thrilling and confusing at the same time.

 

“After he died, when I showed up for that party you held that day, I was furious,” Chris continues, his chest now visibly rising with his deep breaths, “I saw you dancing with that woman, how she kissed you, and I despised not her, but myself,” he pauses at this, swallowing down his throat, “for being a dirty coward.”

 

Silence stretches over the room, and Chris turns to gaze sternly at the ceiling.

 

“I was a married man, a father who desires another, but above all… above all Tom, was the lousy fact that I had absolutely no idea how to approach you, how to tell you, nor myself, what I wanted.”

 

Minutes pass, and Tom’s mind struggles for a response. Dozens of questions rush through his thoughts, about Chris’s past, about what exactly had Chris wanted to tell him back in that night of the party, but he pushes them aside, attempting to find some words of comfort instead.

 

“I remember wanting to kiss you, and being scared like a boy of your reaction, I- I had no idea whether you would let me touch you,-” Chris says, catching Tom’s attention immediately.

 

_He did not know… He did not know I wanted him._

 

“Ugh,” Chris groans, his fingers pinching his eyes, “Why am I even telling you this.”

 

His brows furrow in thought, as if Chris is remembering something, and Tom watches him, hoping for more details to be revealed.

 

“I might have been sick in my dream, touched with illness like Mark was, and you were there, I was afraid you were s- sick too,” Chris mutters.

“And that’s it, that was my dream.” He adds, concluding his sentence with a sigh, and covers his face with his arm.

 

Moments progress until the lull of the night becomes too quiet, and Tom realizes that Chris won’t say more.

 

He shifts closer to Chris, tries to remove his arm from his eyes so he will be able to see him, to kiss him for comfort, but Chris stubbornly resists Tom’s touch.

 

“No,” he says gruffly, keeping his eyes hidden, “I did not want you to see me like this, nor did I want you to question me about it.”

 

Tom pauses at this, somewhat offended, and releases Chris’s arm.

 

“Ok,” he says softly, but does not apologize. He wanted to know.

 

Once again - just like their previous night, Tom feels overwhelmed with information. He wants to inquire Chris much further, but he knows that prodding Chris any deeper than this will only draw them into an argument.

 

Putting his endless curiosity aside, Tom lies down and rests his head on Chris’s chest, and places his arm over his stomach, hugging him close.

 

Chris does not respond to Tom’s advances, still keen on keeping his face half concealed, but slowly, his breaths slow down into a more relaxed, sleep oriented pace.

 

Content with their position, Tom kisses Chris’s chest, hooking his thigh over Chris’s leg.

 

“I wanted you to kiss me long before you tried,” he whispers lightly, staring at the night’s peak through the window.

 

_Sometimes I wish I had been to one who initiated all of this, the one who touched you first,_ he thinks but does not say.

 

Tom’s body gradually eases into a mild slumber, with Chris’s scent and warmth beneath him, distantly thinking he’s been a fool for not trying to cuddle with Chris before.

 

He tenses when he senses a Chris’s chest shifting below his cheek, afraid that Chris might try to untangle their embrace, but soon calms back down when he feels Chris’s arm being placed over his back, his fingers tracing Tom’s skin.

 

_This is hard for him, harder than he lets me know,_ Tom thinks as Chris draws him closer, replaying the rushed story of his dream.

 

_He may be in pain_ , his intuition whispers, and for the first time since they’ve shared their first kiss, Tom wonders if perhaps this-... this growing intimacy between them is a… a mistake.

 

The notion sends a frightened shiver through him, and instinctively, Tom kisses Chris’s chest once again, closing his eyes as he tightens their embrace.

 

Tom holds him for as long as he can, but soon, his body grows heavy with pending fatigue.

 

Among all of Chris’s words, a single phrase resounds through Tom’s thoughts, one that despite everything, makes Tom smile in his demanding sleep.

 

_I had looked at you before._

  
  


\----------------

  
  


The warmth of another body welcomes Chris when he slowly drifts awake.

 

Tom is pressed behind him, his arm draped over Chris’s waist, chest pressed to his back.

 

“Good morning,” Tom greets him when Chris’s wakefulness is noted, pressing kisses over his shoulder blades, lightly massaging Chris’s stomach.

 

“Good morning,” Chris replies, if a little gruffly, the night’s happenings slowly gathering back into his consciousness.

 

He remembers the hospital gown from his dream, remembers being pulled awake to find Tom staring at him through the dark and himself talking about his own cowardice - and he cringes.

 

More memories continue to resurface, but this line of thinking is abruptly halted when the unmistakable sensation of Tom’s hardness pressing into his behind is noted.

 

Chris opens his eyes fully, his current uneasiness holding him back, but his body responds before his mind does, and he grinds back against Tom, accepting his invitation.

 

He won’t miss a chance to do this.

 

He closes his eyes and lets Tom lure him away from the last trail of his troubled thinking, then turns to his side to face Tom, bending over to mouth his shoulder as he opts to rub their erections together.

 

Chris lets them indulge in the sweet sensation, but soon, his body demands more, the impulse to fully materialize their contact, to penetrate Tom’s body, maneuvers him forward.

 

He tries to turn Tom over his stomach, the usual urge to take him from behind starring within Chris again, but Tom refuses, telling him he’d like to remain on his back this time with a small smile.

 

“Alright,” Chris answers, silently thinking that he hasn’t invested a respectful enough amount of attention into their foreplay, but refrains from the thought. Right now - he wants this, just this.

 

He fetches the oil from Tom’s cupboard, slicks his palms and his cock, and spreads Tom’s legs apart with his knees, settling himself between them and reaching with his fingers to Tom’s backside.

 

Tom moans when he breaches him, and Chris dips his head to bite his neck, satisfied.

 

He fingers him, his cock hard and eager, branded against Tom’s hip, and soon Chris pulls his fingers away and positions himself along Tom’s sweet opening, ready to have him.

 

“Ready?” He asks Tom, as patiently as he can manage, and pushes into him all the way through as soon as Tom nods back at him.

 

“Oh,” Chris grunts into Tom’s chest, gathering Tom’s legs and hooking them over his arms, bucking his hips against Tom’s behind.

 

He gathers his pace quickly, thrusting hard and good into Tom’s flesh within moments, this is what he wants, and he is about to rise to his knees when Tom’s arms wrap around his neck, keeping him close.

 

“I will miss you,” Tom whispers below his ear.

 

Chris opens his eyes at this, turning to look into Tom’s eyes.

 

“I’ll miss you too,” he tells him, kissing the corner of his mouth.

 

He blinks, momentarily confused, but then Tom urges him to resume from his slowing thrusts, bucking against him, and Chris hisses, unable to refuse this.

 

Chris bends Tom’s legs higher up, and It does not take him long, what with Tom taking himself in hand beneath him, the sweet noises he makes -

 

Tom is still holding him close, and Chris watches him climaxing from the corner of his eye, sliding in and out of his body along with the sight of Tom’s pleasure, he is so lovely, despite pushing Chris to the corner, he is unpredictably sexy-

 

Chris comes with a tight grunt, emptying himself, shuddering at the sensation of spilling into Tom’s bare flesh again.

 

With Tom’s arm still wrapped around his neck, Chris catches his breath, lowering Tom’s legs back to their place.

 

“Are you ok?” Chris asks his lightly, touching Tom’s cheek.

 

This was good, deliciously good, yet their coupling was rough and abrupt.

 

“Yeah,” Tom tells him, gently untangling his arm then the rest of his body from Chris’s, releasing Chris to lie on his back.

 

Cool breeze slides through the drapes, sending morning light through the shades, causing Chris to squint against the blinding sunlight.

 

When Chris feels fingers carding through his, he turns to look at Tom.

 

“Are you hungry?” Tom asks him.

 

Swallowing down the musky taste of his recent sleep, Chris clears his throat.

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

Tom hums in reply, but neither of them makes a move to leave their bed at first.

 

Silence lingers, but eventually, with their fingers still entwined, Chris rises to sitting position, forcing his eyes to open despite the morning’s sharp brightness.

 

Just outside the window, reality is waiting for them to come back.

  


\---------------------------

  
  


Chris is dressing up, buttoning his shirt when he sees Tom exiting the bathroom and stepping into the living room, his hair somewhat messy and his thin sweatshirt slightly moist around his chest.

 

Tom comes to stand nearby, leaning his shoulder against the wall while wearing a small, contemptuous smile.

 

“So,” he says through his teeth, “I guess I’ll see you around, huh.”

 

Whether Tom is teasing him or pretending some indifference, Chris is not sure, but this sided smirk, this grin, it looks far from genuine.

 

After a short, pointed stare, Chris finishes tucking his shirt into his jeans, then advances towards Tom, closing the gap between them.

 

Tom maintains his insolence, raising an eyebrow at him, but when Chris places his hands around his waist and draws him over, he breathes deeply, the last traces of pretense melting away from his face.

 

Chris pulls him close, brushing his nose over Tom's temple while rubbing his lower back, searching for the right words, yet all he can say is the truth.

 

"I'll try to come over for another visit as soon as I can," he says, his own words resonate like a hollow promise.

 

"Ok," Tom murmurs faintly into his shoulder, and Chris tightens his hold, sensing guilty, sensing useless.

 

Tom deserves much more than this.

 

"I'm sorry.” He says against Tom’s cheek.

 

_I promise to try and make this better._

 

At this, Tom leans backwards, gazing into Chris’s eyes.

 

“You can say you’re sorry to someone else,” he speaks, “But not to me, Chris, ok?”

 

_You misunderstood me again_ , Chris opens his mouth to say, but Tom silences him with his hand coming to cup his jaw, drawing their face close.

 

Tom kisses him, deeply, wholly, and Chris closes his eyes, letting Tom hold him, fearing that asking for further comfort might ignite more sharp words from Tom or lead them into an argument.

 

When they finally part, Chris reaches to tuck an invisible lock of hair behind Tom’s ear.

 

“I”ll call you, and we’ll talk ok?”

 

“Yeah, we’ll talk,” Tom replies, his expression unreadable, and Chris pursues his lips.

 

_That’s it_ , he thinks, suddenly unable to bear their goodbye scene any longer, _I should go._

 

On an impulse, Chris takes Tom’s hand, draws it to him, and kisses the back of Tom’s fingers.

 

“I”ll see you soon, Tom,” he says, releasing Tom’s hand back to its place, and heads to open the apartment’s door.

 

He braces his backpack over his shoulder, steps out of the flat, and with a final nod at Tom, Chris closes the door behind him.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


Tom’s gaze lingers at the door, listening to the descending footsteps of Chris heading down the stairs.

 

Arms sensing awkwardly long hanging at his side, Tom shoves his palms into his pockets, blinking as he glances around the living room.

 

The apartment around him is very, very silent, as if shocked.

 

Tom swallows down his throat, the flat’s sudden emptiness ringing in his ears.

 

_Until next time, Chris darling._

  
  


\-------------------

  


Chris starts the car’s engine, wears his cap and sunglasses as the engine warms up for the ride, then steers the car over to the first junction leading to the main road.

 

The traffic around him is not very heavy at the moment, and yet, it takes Chris more than a few moments until he manages to find the right momentum to integrate his car to the rest of the vehicles.

 

Grumbling under his breath, Chris presses down the over the gas pump, driving the car forward until he slows down for a red traffic light.

 

He brings the car to a halt, and his gaze drifts over to the steering wheel, his mind storming with a rush of images and thoughts.

 

_How long will I be able to keep this going?_

 

A faint rumble reaches Chris’s ears, and soon after, small drops of rain hit the car’s windshield.

 

Distantly, Chris watches the glass being gradually spotted with water.

 

_Why can’t I stop? Why do I keep hurting him so?_

 

A sharp car honk rattles through the silence, causing Chris to jerk in his seat, instantly grabbing the steering wheel and hitching the car forward. The traffic light’s green light is already flashing, about to change back to red, and the rest of the cars which stood in front of him not but a moment ago - have long driven on.

 

Swallowing down his dry throat, Chris drives ahead.

 

His cell phone rings with an incoming call from his agent, but Chris declines it immediately. He is not in focus at the moment, this is not the right time for a conversation.

 

He keeps driving, the drops of rain steadily tapping the glass.

 

Tomorrow night Elsa is expected to return from Europe, and Chris shall meet her at the airport and take her back to their apartment.

 

Chris pulls a ragged breath through his nose.

 

_What should I tell her when she asks me where have I been?_

 

He reaches his palm to his face, pinching his eyes.

 

_All this lying, and hiding-_

 

“Hey! You! Watch where you’re going!”

 

Chris jolts forward, a violent shiver running through him as a deafening car brake screeching noise slices through the street’s chatter.

 

He brakes the car immediately, and when he dares to look, he sees a taxi standing mere inches from his car, on the sidewalk are a few pedestrians staring at the small scene he’s created, and the taxi’s driver is gaping furiously at him.

 

“Eyes on the road, idiot!”

 

Inhaling a quavering breath, Chris mutters an apology through his clenched jaws, driving forward as smoothly as possible, his face red with shame and embarrassment.

 

He crosses the junction as quickly as possible, drives through the next street to get rid of the people’s stares following his car, then steers his vehicle to the nearest available curb-bay.

 

With his body still shaking at the near accident, Chris brings the car to a complete halt, his fingers shivering over the steering wheel.

 

He stares forward, his lips parted as he inhales deeply, the raindrops covering the windshield with transparent, flowing curtain.

 

With his hand in tremors, Chris reaches for his cell phone, forcing himself to think straight as he tries to recall a certain name from memory.

 

Licking his dry lips, Chris dials the numbers and listens carefully, anxiously, to the beeping dialing tone.

 

A moment of silence occurs when his call is answered.

 

“Chris?”

 

Chris clears his throat and settles his breath, restlessly tapping his fingers on his knee.

 

“Hello, um, Howard?”

 

“Yes, hello Chris. Good morning. How have you been?”

 

Chris clears his throat once again, his heart thumping in his ears and his stomach rounding over itself.

 

“Howard, I-,” he says, his voice muffled and small, almost a whisper, “I’m-,”

 

Chris shakes his head, forcing the words out of his mouth.

 

“Please,-”

 

He can’t, he can’t be alone in this anymore, he has to-

 

“I need to talk.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a tale to tell  
> Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well  
> I was not ready for the fall  
> Too blind to see the writing on the wall
> 
> A man can tell a thousand lies  
> I've learned my lesson well  
> Hope I live to tell  
> The secret I have learned,  
> Until then - It will burn inside of me
> 
> [ Madonna - Live To Tell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzAO9A9GjgI)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Since this chapter is cluttered with past plot references, and after I've come to think that those not so little reminder lists I usually make are rather tiresome - I've decided to note only a single reminder this time. If anything doesn't click right to you - you're welcome to write to me.
> 
> So:  
> * Mark used to be Chris's childhood friend, and he had died of cancer. Before he died he chose another partner for himself - that partner's name is Howard.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter -  
> * Intense conversations and situations.  
> * Some language.  
> * More than platonic dynamics between one of our boy heroes and another ofc - yet nothing explicit.  
> * No violence, no harm comes to anyone.
> 
>  
> 
> May you enjoy this chapter, and may it capture your interest.

Glimpsing at the small note one more time in order to make sure he’s entered the correct address into the GPS application, Chris steers his car to the nearest curb-bay once the device announces their arrival.

 

With some caution, he kills the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and sits back, staring ahead at the designated house through the windshield.

 

Releasing an uneasy sigh, Chris looks around, idly observing the quiet neighborhood.

 

Within moments of nothing noticeable but some playful bird chirping and late afternoon sunbeams dancing over the trees, Chris nudges himself internally, wears his cap, fixes his sunglasses - and finally leaves his car.

 

With his hands in his pockets, Chris nears the appointed house. He crosses the small yard, his steps measured, and eventually comes to stand in front of the house’s door, its wooden dark color filling Chris’s vision.

 

_ Come on, come on,  _ Chris pokes himself again, draws his shy fist from his pocket, and knocks on the door - just once.

 

At first -  few moments pass with no response, and Chris lifts his eyes from the ground, again eyeing the door’s darkened wood.

 

He raises his arm, ready to knock again - but pauses when he hears a muffled sound of footsteps approaching the door. 

 

Chris hears the sound of a turning key, a release of a lock, and braces himself with a deep breath just before the door is pulled open. 

 

A figure of a man is revealed to be standing behind the door, and Chris stares at him, taking in his face, the last time he’d seen this man was at Mark’s funeral -  then nods with a polite smile.

 

“Chris,” Howard says kindly, stepping back and inviting Chris inside, “Welcome, come in, come in.”

 

“Howard, hello,” Chris replies, entering the apartment with some timidness to his steps.

 

_ Good to see you _ , he means to add, but, suddenly surrounded by unexpected warmth and taken by an unheralded curiosity, Chris pauses to observe the house around him, his lips still parted by mid-sentence.

 

The house radiates with unexpected, gentle warmth, it holds some naturally pleasant air - yet it lacks any further noise but their own, with no other person in sight.

 

Words suddenly heavy in his mouth, Chris turns to look back at Howard. 

 

The man appears at tad older since their last meeting, but that small smile Howard is showing Chris, that look to his eyes - Chris’s instincts immediately insinuate the same message they always restate upon each of their encounters - that Howard is a good man.

 

Howard closes the door behind them, approaches Chris, but instead of taking Chris’s offered arm for a handshake, Howard touches Chris’s shoulder.

 

“I was wondering when you would pay me a visit,” he says, squeezing Chris’s shoulder warmly.

 

“Took you more than a little while, huh?” 

 

Chris only looks at him, unsure how to digest his supposedly light-hearted words, but Howard simply chuckles in return.

 

“No matter. Good to see you, Hemsworth, I’m glad you’re finally here.”

  
  
  


\---------------------

  
  
  


Howard carries a flask of whiskey with him, places it on the table along with a bottle of chilled water and two cups, then takes the opposite chair around the small table as his seat.

 

“Thank you,” Chris mutters, warily eyeing the whiskey placed in front of him. 

 

He did not intend to drink today, and yet, the presence of the thick liquid feels right with him at the moment.

 

Howard stretches his neck in his chair, pours some scotch into each of the small cups, then takes a sip from one of them, staring at the nearby window.

 

“So, how are you doing then.” 

 

Chris glances at the man, quietly watching him tasting his liquor, already sensing somewhat tempted to touch his own glass.

 

“I’ve been doing fine,” Chris replies lightly, swallowing some saliva down his throat, “and you?”

 

“Well,” Howard starts without pause, his gaze never leaving the window, “the earth continues to circle, it appears, and thankfully, I’m at peace with that fact.”

 

Chris blinks at him, all at once reminiscent of the man’s tendency to respond with straight-forward answers to plain questions.

 

It reminds Chris of Tom, with the difference of Howard’s tone being more settled and serene while Tom’s speech usually insistent on carrying that… bite.

 

“And your wife? The children? Are they doing well?”

 

Chris tilts his chin at the direction of his liquor filled cup, his index finger grazing the table’s surface back and forth.

 

“They are all doing alright, yes.”

 

“Indeed,” Howard says with a nod. 

 

”Sounds like everything is jolly good then,“ he continues after a moment, placing his cup back on the table with his gaze still distant.

 

Silence falls between them then, with the last sunbeams of the day spilling through the window, coloring their table with yellowish light.

 

Moments go by, and Chris stares at the small cup, his fingers itching to hold it.

 

Thoughts of the previous days flow through his mind, of coming home after work to Tom’s apartment and sharing dinners with him, of sleeping next to him at night, and when he remembers Tom asking him not use protection while having sex - Chris surrenders, reaches for the cup and lifts it to his mouth.

 

He takes a thick, healthy swig from the glass, grinding his jaws as he washes the strong whiskey down his throat.

 

“I, uh,” he begins, his mouth sensing stiffly cumbersome, “well.” 

 

Chris licks his lips, the slight burn of the alcohol stinging his flesh.

 

“I’m-,” he tries again and breathes deeply when his stomach twists a little.

 

“I’m having an-, and affair with a-,” 

 

Chris tightens his fingers around his cup.

 

“A man.”

 

There is no response at first, until a soft hum from Howard’s direction reaches Chris’s ears.

 

“Hmm.”

 

Chris lifts his gaze from the table to Howard, dreading the expression he might find on his face, but all he sees is a slight crease to the man’s forehead, as if he is in deep, ongoing thought.

 

“Well,” Howard begins thoughtfully, “Is it that gentleman who had accompanied you to the hospital that day when you first visited Mark?”

 

Chris narrows his eyes, his face tautening at once.  

 

_ How did he know? _

 

“How did you know?”

 

Chris catches a faint curve to Howard’s lips, but the man only tilts his chin upwards, appearing to consider his next reply as well. 

 

“I did not. Rather, It was a very well calculated guess. Back then Mark would not tell me, and I had grown very curious as to why exactly he had been so keen about telling you about us,” he says eventually.

 

“I watched your friend while you were conversing with Mark, I observed him waiting for you, and after you left Mark’s room and shook my hand, when you went to him -  the way he regarded you,-” Howard continues, then pauses.

 

“He looked… hopeful, rather eager for your return,” he adds, finally turning to look at Chris.

 

“I remember I was wondering whether he had held you as more than a friend, but I wasn’t sure what to make of it, as I knew you are married.”

 

Chris furrows his eyebrows at this, flush threatening to creep up his cheeks as he lowers his gaze back to the table.

 

“It is him, yes.”

 

Nodding, Howard turns to look at the window again.

 

“I see,” he says, pursing his lips in more thought.

 

“For how long has this been going on?”

 

With a sniff, Chris draws the small glass close and takes another healthy swig, rolling the burn beneath his tongue before he swallows and answers.

 

“Since right after Mark’s funeral,” he replies, tapping the glass after he replaces it back over the table.

 

At this, Howard tilts his head to look at Chris, who meets stare at once, his belly warming with the same emotion he had felt during that day long past, now renewed.

 

“I was angry and bitter, Howard,” he begins, blinking at how fast the old sentiment returns to him.

 

“I cursed Mark for confusing me, for reminding me of notions I had considered forgotten then fading away from this world because of some abhorrent disease, I wanted you to keep your mouth shut after telling me how damn smart you were for choosing Mark despite his sickness, making me feel like an idiot-” Chris pauses at this, stealing in a hacked breath, he remembers it all and it has to come out, finally he has someone to talk to- 

 

“Hell, I was mad at Tom for finding him attractive, can you believe that?”

 

Howard stares at him, carefully listening to Chris’s words.

 

“Tom - is that his name?” He asks, which Chris confirms.

 

“What happened?” Howard urges him to continue.

 

Chris sniffs inelegantly, his fingers restlessly drumming the table and his foot now tapping the floor.

 

“After the funeral I drove to his house, to his silly party, I wanted to have a drink with him alone, but instead- I saw him dancing with his pretty little girlfriend in the middle of his living room for everyone else to see, and I-” 

 

Blood flowing through his veins, Chris’s fingers clench into a fist.

 

“I couldn’t contain it anymore, feeling like a coward, like a maimed man, and he was - he was right there, holding her right in front of me, I was exhausted and furious all at once, mute as a dog.”

 

Chris breathes deeply, inspecting the last available sip of whiskey resting in his glass.

 

“I slept with him that night,” he grumbles and pauses at this, shaking his head,  “It was strange, but it was good, I- I liked it,” he continues, narrowing his eyes as he remembers.

 

“After this, We-, we had barely talked for weeks,” he says, recalling how disoriented he had been during those days, “I was lost as to whether I should approach him, I hadn’t the slightest idea of what to say, and then…one day he-,” 

 

Chris swallows down his throat, his previous flush now winning, conquering his neck and cheeks.

 

“He kissed me,” he says, glancing at Howard.

 

“He kissed me, after which I wanted him even more, and I just…”

 

Chris waves his palms in the air, unsure of how to explain this.

 

“I went to him, I slept with him again and we-, we had grown closer ever since.”

 

Chris finishes with a low hum and draws his glass to him once again. He drains its contents in a single taste and clears his throat.

 

“I slept in his bed, I brought him flowers and other foolish gifts I managed to get my hands on, I got him this small golden jewel for his birthday, and when I get the chance - I drive him home after work,” he finishes, consuming the last taste of liquor with a silent swish.

 

After Inspecting the glass’s empty bottom then lowering it back to the table, or rather knocking it down with a low thud, Chris pulls at his nose, and waits.

 

_ This man is not Mark, he is not your friend, _ Chris’s mind warns him, but even so, saying these words out loud, Chris can not bring himself to feel regret for finally sharing this with someone.

 

Instinctively, even before he’s heard Howard’s response, Chris feels he trusts this man.

 

Howard watches Chris after he finishes his drink, and after a few moments of mutual silence, refills it again with more Whiskey.

 

Parallelly, Howard pours some water into a different cup, and pushes it over the table to Chris.   

 

“He has a girlfriend?”

 

Chris purses his lips together. Of all the possible questions-

 

“Indeed, he has.”

 

“Ah,” Howard says rather curiously, “and does your wife know about this?”

 

At this, Chris simply grunts, crossing his arms over his chest with shame.

 

“I’ve told her nothing, but she is no fool. I’ve… I’ve changed.”

 

Howard nods slowly then, as if completing the picture of reality Chris has just described to him.

 

“I see,” he begins, catching Chris’s eyes, holding his stare.

 

Sensing his body tensing, as if turning defensive before receiving his verdict, Chris does his best not to let his gaze falter.

 

“Well Chris,” Howard says, slightly cocking his head, “before I speak, I must ask you - what did you come here for? Do you seek comfort from me? An attentive ear and palm petting your back? Should I give you my opinion and attempt to advise you? Should I scold you for your errors?”

 

Chris sense his lips parting, confused at Howard’s unpredictable question.

 

“I am serious,” Howard continues, “I wish to know why you have come here with this, or what are you expecting of me to do after sharing your story with me.”

 

Chris shakes his head, unfolding his arms from his chest and massaging the back of his neck, uncertain of how to respond to Howard’s question.

 

“I do not know what to do,” he says after a while, unable to find an answer better than this.

 

“Oh,” Howard comments immediately, placing his arms on the table, “I think you do.”

 

Chris furrows his eyebrows at the man, confused and affronted.

 

“No, I do not,” he says, and feels even more perplexed as Howard only keeps staring at him, obviously unimpressed.

 

“Wh- what? I’m married, and he’s… Tom is a man, how do I even start?”

 

Howard leans back from the table, his palm running over his jaw.

 

“What do you want, Chris.”

 

Chris blinks at him.

 

_ What do I want. _

 

“What?” He asks, trying to delay his answer as his mind whirls for one.

 

“What do you want. Can you tell me that?” Howard repeats his question calmly.

 

At this, Chris’s thoughts quickly recede into a thin line of disturbing blankness, his mind becomes paralyzed, dislodged of any possible reply.

 

Sensing annoyingly out of his depth, Chris opens his mouth and shakes his head quietly, taken with warm puzzlement.

 

“Chris,” Howard calls.

 

“You are thinking too much,” he says gently, and Chris turns to look at him, seeing Howard tapping his fist over his chest, over his heart, “speak through here.”

Swallowing down his throat again, Chris nods, lowering his gaze to the table.

 

“Here,” Howard continues, pouring another dosage of whiskey into the small cup, “have some more and let it happen.”

 

Chris watches his glass being filled with the translucent brownish liquid, and, as if independent, his hand reaches for it and draws it near, allowing half of the cup’s contents to roll over his rigid tongue. 

More silence ensues as Chris consumes the second half of glass, his eyes wandering over the quiet yet welcoming apartment, stopping over at the window, drifting to see some of the sky.

 

_ I know this _ , he muses, the sting of the alcohol warming his stomach, loosening his internals and his clenched mouth.

 

“I want…”

 

Within his ribs, Chris’s heart is beating just a little harder.

 

“I want… to spend more time with him,” he starts quietly, “and I want us to be more relaxed around each other.”

 

_ There is more _ , Chris’s heart tells him, _ and it’s plain and simple _ .

 

“I want to have more sex with him,” he adds, licking his lips as he speaks this, “and I don’t want him to sleep with anyone else.”

 

Howard inclines his head, nursing his drink as he listens to Chris.

 

“Well, I won’t pamper you with soft words Chris. I don’t believe in coddling,” he says, glancing at Chris behind his glass.

 

“I think you know what you need to do, or make a choice, at least.”

 

Chris shakes his head at him incredulously, blaming Howard for nothing.

 

“Come on Howard, I have a wife, a family, and Tom is a man, he is…” Chris flails his hand, gesturing at the air, “we are so different from each other, that guy is too bloody smart for his own good, and sometimes I have no idea of what he is talking about or what he wants,” he says, his body warming with every word he sets free.

 

“If it comes to meaningful conversations, setting up a meeting with him, even carrying out a simple phone call, you name it - we hardly manage to get through a single personal exchange without clashing with each other, and I feel like a dumb jackass every single time.”

 

Howard raises an eyebrow at him, still unaffected.

 

“And still, you choose to go to him every time anew, you want to spend more time with him.”

 

Chris runs his hand through his hair, sensing agitated and raw, his ire escalating the more their exchange continues.

 

“Do you know what happened after the second night I had spent with him?” He asks, both eyebrows raised, “I pissed him off because I left at the middle of the night - and we argued, I mean,” Chris breathes through his teeth, “the man had tears in his eyes.”

 

“And after his birthday party? I left after I couldn’t stand watching him feeling up his girlfriend over at the dance floor, so he caught up with me in the parking lot, told me what a selfish dunce I am and that he’d like to punch my face.”

 

Howard is still looking at him, insistent upon maintaining his calm composure, and Chris wants to knock his fist over the table, shove his chair backwards and kick the nearest wall. 

 

How can he not understand?

 

“He came to me that evening, during his pointless party, and just before I presented him with my gift, he asked me for a bloody dance. Can you imagine that? He had actually asked me for a dance, when I was the one who should have asked him, and even worse - I simply stood there over at  the bar after he asked me, dumbstruck like a dimwitted mum, wondering how the hell does one man dances with another. Do you see what I mean?” 

 

Chris pauses at this, crossing his arms over his chest, holding himself back from tumbling into anger any further. This won’t end well if he continues.

 

“How on earth will I know what to do with this business?”

 

Howard taps his index finger at the table, his head slightly cocked to the side.

 

“Nothing will get better before you take responsibility for your deeds, Chris.” 

 

Chris holds his stare, gradually calming his breath.

 

“What do you mean by taking responsibility, exactly,” he asks him with a cool tone.

 

Chris is an adult, he believes he knows what responsibility means, and yet - he wants to understand the exact nature of Howard’s intention.

 

“For a start, its means talking to your wife, talking to Tom. Telling them both the truth.”

 

Chris grunts at this. Of course, of course telling the truth is the right thing to do… and yet-

 

“How will this truthfulness change things between me and- and Tom? I mean, I told you - we are completely different people-”

 

“It will change you, Chris,” Howard cuts him mid-sentence, “No one else, just you. Being candid will give you an opportunity to relax, move on past your confusion and think more clearly, to gain more confidence and not call yourself a dumb halfwit for a start.”

 

Chris opens his mouth to reply, to tell Howard that he understands nothing of the delicate balance of the situation, but his attempt at speaking results with naught but a dry huff of air.

 

He leans his elbows over the table and lowers his face into his hands, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

 

“What will people say?” He asks quietly, “what will they think?”

 

“However your decisions shall turn out, people will think of you exactly as you think of yourself, be it confident and knows what’s good for oneself, or be it confused and unstable.”

 

At this, Chris lifts his face, blinking at Howard.

 

“Same goes to your kids, by the way. You don’t need me to teach you that being a good father begins with being a good man.”

 

Silence follows after Howard says this, with Chris attempting to digest the man’s words. Just as he had claimed about himself, Howard delivers his messages with no sweetened coating to soften their meaning, but still, somehow, Chris does not feel threatened at the moment.

 

The last sunbeams of the sun are floating through the windows’ curtains, warming the table and coloring it bright orange, and Chris feels overwhelmed, drained of any additional words to say, the alcohol in his blood still slowing his thoughts, yet not his heart.

 

“That he should punch you in the face? Did he actually say this?” Howard asks him suddenly, pulling a dry chuckled out of Chris’s lips.

 

“He did, and I deserved it.” 

 

“Huh,” Howard responds with a chuckle of his own, “That boy is deeply intimidated by your ongoing business, I’d say.”

 

Chris frowns at him, leaning back in his chair.

 

“Tom ain’t no little boy, Howard.” 

 

Howard purses his lips, drains the last drops of whiskey from his cup, and knocks it back over the table.

 

“You’re right,” he tells Chris, locking their gazes together, “you’re right.”

 

“You both are two baby infants, chasing and pouncing each other around the neighborhood, silly toddlers who did not bother to discuss the rules of your little game before you started playing.”

  
  
  


\---------------

  
  
  
  


They continue to talk a while longer afterwards, with Chris mostly telling Howard a bit more about him and Tom, about his family, and about his supposedly unexpected growing affection for newer fields of knowledge such as math and astronomy.

 

Their conversation flows slowly but calmly, and by its end, when Chris’s mouth is warm not because of alcohol, but because of thorough speaking, he dares to tell Howard of how tiring it is to live with lies, and even shares some of his dreams with him.

 

Howard does not mention Mark at all, for which Chris feels a little sad, but lets it be.

 

All in good time.

  
  


\----------------- 

  
  


Just before he leaves, when Chris is already standing next to apartment’s door while wearing his jacket, Howard leans over the door jamb, looking thoughtful again.

 

Sensing that the man is about to tell him something, Chris halts his movements, looks at Howard, and waits.

 

“Did Mark tell you that he and I also started our episode while he was still married to Adaline?”

 

Unprepared for the honest sharing, Chris pauses for a moment, even though he remembers that detail quite well.

 

“No, he did not.”

 

Howard chuckles at this.

 

“That oily bastard,” he murmurs, still smiling.

 

“Mark used to mumble this little phrase, at times even foolishly sing it to himself while he was lying next to me in bed, before and sometimes even after he had revealed himself to his wife and broken up with her.”

 

_ So he did tell her eventually _ , Chris muses, then remembers something else Mark used to tell him during his visits to the hospital.

 

“That life is short and beautiful?”

 

Howard laughs again, a little harder this time.

 

“Oh no, not that one. He used to stare at the ceiling, and say -,” Howard clears his throat.

 

“I’m a sinner, I’m a dreamer.”

 

Chris creases his forehead. 

 

A sinner?

 

“What does that mean?” he asks, thinking that the statement sounds somewhat morbid.

 

“I think it summarized the way he felt,” Howard says, idly looking behind Chris’s shoulder, “his will to spend time with me had caused him confusion, had led him to make numerous mistakes, and discover a rather clear reflection of himself in the mirror, for better and for worse, but despite all of these, within the terrible mess of his disease, he did what he truly wanted to do, and he...”

 

Howard wipes his lips with his palm, sighing deeply, and Chris averts his eyes, sensing bashful.

 

“Well, I suppose he simply felt alive.”

 

The stillness that follows leaves Chris searching for words, but almost right away, Howard reaches to squeeze his shoulder again.

 

“I’m so glad you came Chris, this was an unexpected pleasure I’ve been unknowingly waiting for,” he says with a warm smile.

 

“You have my number,” he adds, then lowers his arm to Chris’s forearm and squeezes a little harder.

 

“You can do this, Chris, I’ve no doubt about that.”

 

Chris bites his lip, the weight of Howard’s words heavy on his shoulders.

 

“You come and visit me again, yeah?” Howard tells him, patting Chris’s arm one more time, then lowering his arm back to its place.

 

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs, “yeah, of course,” he continues, and with his body warm, Chris does what he only feels is right, steps forward, and draws Howard into a warm embrace.

 

“Thank you,” Chris mutters over the man’s shoulder.

 

With a surprised, quiet chuckle, Howard pats Chris’s back gently.

 

“No Chris,” he says, his voice thick and muffled over Chris’s jacket denim.

 

“Thank you.”

  
  
  
  


\-----------@@@-------------

  
  
  


“Tom?”

 

“Yeah, Tiff, you ready? I’m almost there.”

 

“Sure, I’ll be down in a minute.”

 

“Great, I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

 

Tom ends their conversation with a sweep of his finger, and shoves his cell phone into his jeans’ back pocket.

 

“My friend,” he says, reaching from the back seat to tap the driver’s shoulder, “would you please pull over in front of that building?” He asks, pointing at Tiffany’s residence building. 

 

The driver nods, and slows down the taxi towards the nearest curb bay.

 

When the car comes to a full halt, Tom steps out of it, rubbing his palms together against the cold as he waits for Tiffany to show up.

 

When he spots her approaching, Tom raises his arm and waves at her.

 

With a small smile playing on his lips, Tom breathes deeply as she approaches, clearing his throat when she’s within speaking range.

 

“Hey Tiff,” he says, leaning over to give her a quick hug.

 

“Hello,” Tiffany leers at him with her unique smile, and instead of accepting Tom’s gesture, Tiffany places her palm over Tom’s chest - and kisses him.

 

It’s a deep, sensual kiss, somewhat awkward to be carried out in the middle of the street, what with the taxi’s driver peeking over them through his side mirror, but Tom reciprocates as gracefully as he can.

 

“Wow,” he smiles breathily, breaking their kiss when he deems proper, “what’s the occasion?”

 

Tiffany trails Tom’s chest with her finger, her smile pretty and knowing.

 

“I’ve missed you, Tommy.”

 

Smiling back at her, Tom presses his tongue to his teeth. It used to be much easier to repeat the same sentiment to her, but at this point of time, after those almost three days Tom had spent with him-

 

“Me too, Tiff,” he replies after a moment, “come on, let’s go.”

 

Tom opens the door for her, helps the lady into the car, and follows her into the back seat, speaking his address to the driver once the man steers the car back into the main road.

 

Within a few moments into the ride, a light chat grows between them about today’s happenings, with Tiffany’s hand covering Tom’s over his knee.

 

“I won’t make it for tomorrow’s Thor’s Q and A event, by the way,” Tiffany comments at some point, just as Tom was thoughtfully looking at their joined hands.

 

Pulled out of his reverie, Tom glances at her.

 

“Why is that?”

 

“A last minute press relations event was set for the team I am leading, and I must be present there along with my people.”

 

“Oh,” Tom replies, his eyebrows furrowing as details about tomorrow night’s event flow back through his mind.

 

“I trust that you’ll be quite the star of the evening nevertheless,” he flirts with her.

 

Tiffany giggles at him, obviously flattered, and lays her head on Tom’s shoulder, squeezing his fingers.

 

“So sneaky,” she murmurs through her smile, and Tom returns to stare through the window as the taxi nears his apartment.

 

So, Tiffany won’t be present tomorrow at their appointed event, Tom muses with a pang of regret.

 

As if hiding a silly secret within the smaller chambers of his heart, Tom bites his lower lip and drums his fingers over the car’s leather seat.

 

It is not Tiffany’s presence during tomorrow’s Thor’s Q and A event, or rather lack of it, that bothers Tom.

 

As expected, Chris shall be present in this event well, and Tom had hoped that her company might provide some distraction from the man throughout the crucial parts of the evening.

 

With a small huff, Tom shakes his head in self-mockery once the taxi stops in front of his building.

 

You see, it is not Chris’s presence that Tom is trying to avoid, of course. It is rather Chris’s appointed partner for tomorrow night that is making Tom prefer to invest his attention somewhere else.

 

This special someone who shall accompany Chris through the event, that one person who is making Tom’s stomach lurch uneasily, if one wishes to be more specific, is of course - Chris’s wife.

  
  
  
  


\-----------------------------

  
  
  
  


“Here, let me take this for you,” Tom offers, and Tiffany allows him to pull her coat off her shoulders and hang it near by the door.

 

With no special plans made for tonight, Tom turns to the kitchen in order to fetch a bottle of wine along with two matching glasses, while Tiffany waits for him in the living room.

 

Finding the lady sitting on the sofa when he comes back, Tom sits next to her, pouring each of the glasses some of the red liquid. 

 

“Thank you,” Tiffany says, receiving  the glass from Tom, explicitly eyeing at him as she takes her first taste of the red liquid.

 

It is then, what with the proper light and the relative comfort of the apartment, that Tom notices for the first time that there is something odd about Tiffany’s stare tonight, some strange glint to her eyes he finds he cannot define.

 

“You’re welcome,” Tom replies, slowly blinking at her.

 

“So,” Tiffany starts, lowering her glass from her lips, “have you gotten some proper rest then?”

 

Unsure, Tom furrows his eyebrows together.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You told me you did not feel so well last week, that you needed some rest,” Tiffany reminds him.

 

“Oh,” Tom realizes, “well, not as much as I would have liked to, but enough to feel better at the moment.”

 

“Mmm,” Tiffany says, “Do you have any idea what might have been the cause for your fatigue?”

 

Tom considers his response before he speaks it, his gaze traveling to the cabinet nearby the television, now barren of Chris’s flowers after Tom had to remove them prior to Tiffany’s arrival tonight.

 

“I had a few tiring days at work I suppose, and some other issues I needed to think through.”

 

“Ah,” she comments, weighing Tom’s answer, “anything you’d like to talk about?”

 

Tom smiles thinly at her. It’s there, right there, that expression on her face that means Tiffany is trying to fish some information out of him, and it serves to tire Tom immediately.

 

“Um,” he starts with a smile, trying to soften his refusal, “not at the moment really, perhaps later.”

 

“So secretive,” Tiffany hums to herself, then takes another sip from her wine.

 

“Is there anyone at all with whom you are not so mysterious?”

 

_ Of course _ , Tom wants to blurt out right away,  _ of course there is _ , but just as the words are crowding over the tip of his tongue, he understands how far from the reality that claim has come to be.

 

During the last few months, Tom has been more quiet and reserved about his personal life more than he’s ever been before.

 

“Don’t be like that,” Tom tells her instead, pinching her arm playfully, “I tell you more than you think,” he says, which is mostly true.

 

The two people with whom Tom has been sharing most of his thoughts during the recent months are his sister Emma and, well, Tiffany.

 

And with Chris… It’s simply different. It feels so much more complicated with him. 

 

Sighing inwardly, Tom reaches his arm around Tiffany’s shoulders and tugs her closer, attempting to pacify her.

 

“Just the tip of the ice perhaps,” Tiffany tells him, allowing Tom to draw her closer, “you can’t fool me, Tommy.”

 

To this, Tom remains quiet.

 

It’s true, he realizes.

 

The issues and topics he converses with his friends, his colleagues - all of them hardly relate to the questions that weigh heavy burdens over his heart.  

 

Tom presses his fingers over Tiffany’s arm, wishing to soothe the childish sensation of loneliness that suddenly engulfs him.

 

Those things he wants to say most, he shares with no one at all.

  
  
  
  


\-------------

  
  
  
  


They watch a meaningless action flick played on the television together, with Tiffany pressed to his side, his arm slung over her shoulders, and his mind cloudy with recent memories.

 

Chris had held Tom just like that, here on this very couch, his arm around Tom’s shoulders, thanking Tom for the food, then leaning to kiss him.

 

With his thoughts sailing far away from the film playing on the screen, Tom’s gaze travels sideways, past the small cabinet, towards the hall leading to his bedroom.

 

Tom blinks at dim corridor leading to his bedroom, recalling himself embracing Chris’s sleeping form, kissing the space between his shoulder blades, spending the night together on his bed while being pressed close.

 

The very same hallway appears so dark at the moment.

 

It is as if at the end of it, Tom’s bedroom is shying away from sight, reluctant to welcome a new, different partner for him.

  
  
  
  


\-------------

  
  
  
  


When the film ends and none says a word, a strange state of silence settles between him and Tiffany.

 

There is something about it, about that unusual lack of conversation, and Tom wonders about the odd stillness, how peculiarly it stirs his stomach.

 

When Tom turns to look at Tiffany, still pressed to his side, he sees her drinking the last sip of wine from her glass, then tilting her head to meet his eyes.

 

With Tom’s senses already mellowed by alcohol and unnecessary memories of someone else’s presence in the flat, he’s not sure which of them initiates their kiss. 

 

It’s light at first, until Tiffany places her palm against Tom’s chest, and deepens their contact.

 

Their tongues meet, the tingle of wine accompanies their kiss, and Tom closes his eyes, intending to respond fully - but that awkward sensation, that whispering tell that something is offbeat between them - lingers in the air and tingles his awareness.

 

It is as if so much has happened recently, and now, Tom realizes, the dynamics between him and Tiffany might have changed beyond repair.

 

As if on cue, Tiffany parts their mouths, then leans towards his shoulder, whispering below Tom’s ear.

 

“You are so quiet again.”

 

Puzzled at her tone, Tom opens his eyes.

 

Slowly, Tiffany leans backwards, putting distance between their bodies and locking their gazes together.

 

“Are you thinking about someone else?”

 

Her question hits him like a small swat to the back of his head. 

 

Instantly, Tom’s jaw clench against each other.

 

“What?”

 

Tiffany cocks her head at him.

 

“Are you thinking about someone else right now, while we are kissing?”

 

Tom blinks at her, willing himself to relax and assess the meaning of her question.

 

“No,” he says carefully, not wishing to hesitate with his answer.

 

Tiffany’s stare holds, and Tom's body stiffens right away, as if he’s being interrogated.

 

“Last week, the night we were supposed to meet that you canceled, did you spend it with someone else?”

 

Slowly, Tom inhales, his chest sensing heavier as it rises.

 

For a reason he cannot fathom, Tom finds it very hard to lie to her.

 

“I was tired, Tiff,” he says carefully, gesturing the living room with his palm, ”I stayed right here at the apartment.”

 

With her gaze still fixated on Tom, Tiffany’s expression remains blank.

 

“Was it Chris?”

 

At this, Tom senses his entire body tighten around itself, his eyes narrowing and his lips parting in a hacked breath.

 

_ She knows the truth _ , he realizes at once, and he’s been caught.

 

Tiffany raises an eyebrow at Tom’s silent turmoil, tilting her head sideways.

 

“Was he here with you?”

 

Immediately, Tom shakes his head. 

 

She does not know all of it, Tom understands, and this, he knows deep in his heart, this - his and Chris’s two shared nights, this private occurrence - Tiffany will not know about. 

 

“No,” he says, a wave of protectiveness warming his insides.

 

_ What happens between us, between me and him, is my business alone. _

 

Tiffany licks her lips, her eyes searching Tom’s face.

 

“You like him, don’t you Tom.”

 

The air swiftly turns thick between them, and Tom feels the tension slowly invading past his composure, sending ripples of alarm through his body.

 

He wants to disagree, to reject her claim with a wave of his hand, but, as if in self-defense, his heart hardens at once - and Tom’s mouth remains sealed, refusing to speak any denial of his feelings.

 

_ What’s mine, is mine. _

 

When moments pass and Tom remains wordless, Tiffany’s eyes slowly grow wider, shaking her head at him in disbelief.

 

“Oh god, I knew it,” she chuckles bitterly, finally breaks their eye contact and drops her back over the sofa’s backrest with a thud. 

 

Feeling raw and ferociously vulnerable, Tom runs his fingers through his hair, his breath rolling unevenly through his lips.

 

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Tiffany finally speaks again.

 

“So, I have to ask you Tom, what does this mean? Where does this put us?” she asks, and Tom almost winces at how bluntly she throws this question at him, reminding him of himself.

 

He inhales deeply, looking at her profile from his seat next to her, naturally noting how pretty she is, knowing her intelligence and how well they technically fit together, and yet - his instincts resist these notions.

 

Shaking his head and pursing his lips - Tom does not want to lie about this either.

 

“I don’t know,” he says quietly.

 

“You don’t know, huh?” Tiffany comments pointedly, her tone low, grating on Tom’s nerves.

 

“Well,” she cuts, rising abruptly from the sofa, “I think I’ve heard enough.”

 

Tiffany advances to the table, beings to collect her belongings into her small bag, and Tom wordlessly follows her movements with his eyes.

 

He feels overwhelmed, lightheaded with shock over the abrupt turn of events, his breath heavy and his mouth sensing dry as he watches her.

 

He understands everything that is happening perfectly well, and yet, Tom’s body remains completely still over his seat, doing nothing to keep Tiffany within reach.

 

With her face taut and her movements short and acute, Tiffany wears her coat over her arms, turns towards the door, but suddenly- she pauses.

 

Clasping her bag tightly, Tiffany turns to look at Tom again.

 

“Aren’t you curious to know how I figured this out, Tom?” she asks, unmistakable bite coloring her tone.

 

And he is. Dead curious, actually, but Tom holds himself at bay. This… this has nothing to do with their clash. He will learn this detail if and when he’s ready to grasp the information, but right now, the air is flammable around them, and Tom senses that even few words may turn the situation ugly.

 

“Tiff,” Tom begins, attempting to convey his reluctance as pleasantly as possible, “I don’t think this is-”

 

“Oh,” Tiffany cuts him mid-sentence, “but I do think so, actually,” and Tom flinches and closes his eyes, grazing his creasing forehead as he braces himself.

 

_ That lady is smart _ , Chris had told him exactly so, he suddenly remembers.

 

“It goes long back, actually.” she begins. 

 

“Do you remember how my birthday party ended Tom?” she asks him, and Tom opens his eyes under his palm, his memory whirling images from that night through his mind.

 

“Do you remember how Chris had fallen asleep on this couch, right about where you are sitting at the moment?” she continues, pointing her finger at Tom’s general direction.

 

“How you chose to let him stay instead of me, the way you looked at him, lying there, asleep - god, Tom, I swear to you, I knew it, I knew it right there and then - that you wanted him, but I pushed it aside, I could not believe it, I mean-” she pauses, swallowing down her throat, taken by her emotions, and Tom presses his eyes tightly shut.

 

_ That had been our first night together, our first kiss,- _

 

“All those little moments and small mannerisms, how dreamy and pensive you used to look sometimes, even while you were intimate with me, and I-, I had this suspicion that something is wrong, but I…” she pauses again, shakes her head in disbelief, then looks at Tom once more.

 

“Your birthday party, that was when I finally figured it out,” she says, her eyes wide open and her finger still pointing at Tom.

 

“That cool welcome between you two was strange by itself, but not long after that, at the corner of the dance floor, I saw you… I mean, I saw how tightly you hugged him, Tom, I hardly believed my own eyes,” she says, still shaking her head as she speaks.

 

By his seat on the sofa, Tom cringes rigidly, remembering himself pulling Chris close, whispering candid compliments below his ear.

 

_ A fool, I was a wretched fool, thinking that no one was looking-, _

 

“And then, after you said you were heading to the bathroom, I caught you leaning next to him on the bar instead, smiling at him as if he was the only person standing there, leaning over to him as you spoke, staring at his chest,-”

 

Tom moans under his breath, his fingers pinching his eyes almost painfully.

 

That gift, that useless little pendant. That had been such a personal moment between him and Chris, and afterwards Tiffany had caught up with them, just as they had been about to exit the club and share some privacy, she had addressed Chris so peculiarly, then asked Tom to dance with her right after he was gone-,

 

“Chris had left so very abruptly after we had danced, I can still recall that look on his face, and that whole scene of you leaving right afterwards, claiming to go to the men’s room and coming back with your face blushing red, so very thoughtful…” 

 

Tiffany ceases her flow of words at the point, gesturing her hand at the empty living room, her face creased into a frown.

 

“That night, I felt it. Since then, I simply knew it was true,” she adds slowly, then rearranges the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

 

Tom removes his hand from his eyes, his body hot and his face flushed. 

 

It hurts, damn it, it hurts listening to her speaking so ruthlessly, so spitefully, about matters so personal, his most private moments with Chris.

 

With the last remnants of his patience, Tom rigidly stares at the living room, waiting for Tiffany to finish her hit list and take her leave. He’s had enough.

 

“Well? Have you nothing to say?”

 

With slow oozing agitation flowing through his veins, his face wearing a hard expression, Tom meets her stare.

 

_ You know nothing _ , he wants to hiss at her,  _ you know nothing about what I feel and what I’ve been through _ , but Tom swallows down his ire. He wants no further quarrel with her.

 

“I’ve never meant to hurt you,” he begins thickly, “If I did, I am deeply sorry for it,” he says, and means every word. 

 

Despite this moment’s unnerving scene and even though they have never been officially together - Tiffany has never deserved this.

 

As a response to Tom’s apology, Tiffany narrows her eyes at him, looking at him incredulously.

 

“You...You’re sorry? What- what does it mean? is it like a thing between you two? Are you actually having a secret affair with him?”

 

Tom’s hand clenches into a tight fist at his side.

 

_ Say no more, it has nothing to do with you. Go, just go. _

 

“Are you out of your mind? He’s married, Tom, he’s got kids,” she throws at him, and Tom swiftly rises from the couch, shoving his hands into his pockets as his body sloshes with blood and tension.

 

“Leave it Tiff, just leave it,” he tells her, grinding his jaws together as he says this.

 

_ She’s angry, she’s upset,  _ he reminds himself. 

 

“How did this even start? Did you kiss him despite knowing that he has a wife? Or was it him? Did he somehow seduce you or something? Did he-”

 

“Enough!” Tom seethes at her through his teeth. 

 

She may think whatever she wants and say many, many things about him, but this - his intimacy with Chris, she can’t have it, and he will keep it safe and private - even if it hurts.

 

“I’ve never touched him,” Tom says slowly, the words weighing foul over his tongue, “and he’s never laid his hands on me. He has no part in this.”

 

Taken by his outburst only for a moment, Tiffany Straightens her posture and runs her hand through her hair, creasing her forehead in thought.

 

“So, if that is true, then you’ve never even touched him,” she begins quietly, her voice cool and gritty, “and yet, you don’t seem to try too hard to keep me here. Even though you share nothing with him - you prefer him over me.”

 

His hands still fisting inside his pockets, Tom inhales deeply, doing his best to remain calm and keep the situation under control. 

 

It’s true, and he knows this, has known this for a long, long time. Almost in no regards, She’s no competition to how Tom feels about Chris.

 

“I’m sorry, Tiffany,” Tom whispers.

 

Tiffany parts her lips, blinking at him.

 

“My, he’s done you well and good, hasn’t he? Got you wrapped around his little finger.” she grits at him, and Tom’s belly warms to her low kick, oh, she really is fearless, even saltier than Tom himself.

 

“Does he know about this? Is that why he’s so skittish when it comes to you?”

 

With a low, perilous sigh, Tom turns to look at the window, his gaze probably as ice cold as he feels.

 

“Like I said, Chris has nothing to do with this.” he says, his words dragging over his teeth, “Now, leave it Tiff. I’ve done you wrong, I apologize.” 

 

Tiffany laughs at this, her chuckle small and bitter. 

 

“You apologize, huh.” she mutters under her breath, licking her lips through her sullen smile.

 

“Are you waiting for him then? Hoping that he will leave his wife and come to you?”

 

As if being slapped to his face, Tom presses his eyes tightly shut and turns his head away from her.

 

A low groan breaks out of him, soon turning into a strained, false laughter.

 

“That, is none of your business Tiff,” he tells her, his mouth thick as he speaks, “now, I’ll call a cab for you if you need, but please - go. We’ve said enough.”

 

After a moment of no reply, Tom hears Tiffany taking her last step to the door and getting hold of its handle.

 

“You’ll regret this Tom.” he hears her say, “you and me, we could have been good together, you know this damn well.”

 

Reopening his eyes, Tom allows himself another look at her, his heart still thumping within his chest.

 

Even now, during their worst moments together - Tiffany easily looks perfect for him in every aspect, and yet - it steers nothing within him. 

 

She is a far cry from Chris’s unrefined tenderness. 

 

“Yes,” Tom mutters mildly, sensing like an austere staff rooted to its place in the middle of his own living room, “we could have been.”

 

With a click of her tongue, Tiffany tightens her coat around her body, then opens the door.

 

“Good night Tom, best of luck to you,” she says, and after one last chilling look, she steps out of the apartment, closing the door behind her with a deep thump.

 

Fixed at his position, Tom listens to her steps as she descends down the stairs, holding his breath for long minutes until he hears the muffled sound of a slowing taxi and the following faint tap of heels as Tiffany climbs into it.

 

Gingerly, Tom sits back over the cushions, breathing deeply as his eyes serve the apartment, which seems to be as dumbstruck as he is. 

 

Dropping his head backwards, Tom stares at the ceiling only for a moment, then closes his eyes as the renewed silence fills his senses and slows down the flow of his blood. 

 

_ Go after her _ , Tom’s rational urges him from a distance.

 

“No, no.” Tom mutters quietly into an empty apartment which somehow, with its silence, seems to agree with him.

 

_ I don’t want her. _

  
  
  


_ \------------------ _

  
  
  


Later on, when Tom continues to perch on the couch while the night outside is still at its peak, he glances at his cell phone resting on the table - then rejects his thoughts with a growl.

 

He can’t call Chris, not while the man is with his wife.

 

But that stupid sense of loss - it nettles him. 

 

And the things Tiffany had said…Those words... Oh...

 

Tom groans and pinches his eyes.

 

Hearing Chris’s voice alone would make him feel better, and a funny banter could even make him smile, but tonight…

 

Tom wipes his nose gracelessly, pours another dosage of strong liquor into his glass, and swallows almost all of it in a single swipe.

 

Tonight, Tom will have to find his comfort by himself.

 

Tonight, he is on his own.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you think that I know something you don't know,  
> If I don't promise you the answers would you go?
> 
> What do you want from me?
> 
> Should I sing until I can't sing anymore?  
> Should I play these strings until my fingers are raw?
> 
> You're so hard to please.
> 
> [ Pink Floyd - What do you want from me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zsnGq4rvEM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> It had taken me quite a while to update - I know. It was a very tricky chapter to nail :)
> 
> On a personal note:  
> For this chapter and the next one - May I offer this advice: If you are not interested in any spoilers, do NOT read the warning list for this chapter. 
> 
> I would dare say that I do believe that there is nothing in this chapter that most of us can't handle, and the warnings shall only disclose some of the chapter's essence.
> 
> Never the less, the warning list is noted at the footnotes section for this chapter.
> 
> p.s. - Thank you for all your beautiful comments. You may not know this, but your comments make my little heart soar with indescribable joy and other fluffy feelings. Thank you :)
> 
> And so, may you enjoy this :)

Tom closes the vehicle’s door behind him, and leaves the taxi towards the conference’s hall building.

 

The chilly air rushes over his face, and he pulls his jacket tightly around himself, hissing at the icy breeze.

 

After a few days of warmth, the weather has grown cold again.

 

When he enters the building, one of the production’s representatives meets him, and from there they both take the elevator. Once reaching the right floor, Tom is lead through the lobby into the dressing and preparations chambers which are adjacent to the main conference room.

 

Inside one of the chambers, while a makeup lady dresses him in a suit and re-styles his hair, one of the Thor film production crew executives meets Tom with a firm handshake.

 

“Tom, good to see you,” he greets Tom.

 

“Let me brief you. Chris, Jamie, and Anthony will sit on the main stage with you, while all the reporters shall sit on the front chairs. They will be asking you questions - nothing we haven’t done already, alright?”

 

“I know, yeah,”  Tom hums at the man in a quiet agreement. 

 

While the executive continues to brief him regarding the anticipated questions they are about to be asked, Tom serves the rest of the room, privately noting the already present actors and other staff members.

 

When he does not spot the one person he is looking for, Tom sighs with some fragmentary relief.

 

With the previous night unkindly depriving him of proper sleep, Tom senses somewhat restless, unable to find his focus as the man continues to speak.

 

He hasn’t exchanged even a mere word with Chris since last night. He knows nothing about what has occurred between him and Tiffany, nor about the jarring words Tom had heard coming out of her mouth.

 

“Tom? You with me?”

 

Tom blinks at the man, his attention gathered again at the sound of his name.

 

“Sure, I got everything Sy.”

 

“Alright then,” Sy says, “We’re going to get you all prepped in here, and then we’ll have a small gathering with everyone in the lobby, taking some pictures before we head into the conference hall, alright?” 

 

“Yeah, ok,” Tom comments shortly, giving him a flat smile.

 

He is fretful with disquiet today. 

  
  
  
  


\-------------

  
  


Maddie was originally a dancer before she was cast into the present Thor film, she tells Tom.

 

She had also been invited for tonight’s event, and mere minutes ago, after Tom was photographed and hastily interviewed by the present, eager reporters, she approached and initiated a small, cheerful conversation with him.

 

The conversation flows nicely enough, definitely preferred over some other dusty, work related chit-chats, and Tom does his best to gracefully concentrate on his exchange with the girl.

 

At times, his eyes stray away, both searching and hesitating to spot Chris at the same time. 

 

He will be here soon.

  
  


\---------------------------

  
  
  


And indeed, minutes later, when that low, familiar voice reaches Tom’s ears - Tom allows his attention to drift away from the lady in front of him.

 

He regards the room, seeking the voice’s owner among the other guests - until he finds him. 

 

With his heart beating just a little faster, Tom inspects Chris’s figure, his fine clothing, his kind smile - he looks beautifully dashing, and finally - the woman alongside him, her arm braced on his.

 

Elsa. 

 

The last time Tom had seen her had been months ago, prior to the first night he had spent with Chris. 

 

She is as lovely as Tom remembers her, wearing a delightful purple dress and a sweet smile gracing her face - fitting perfectly against her husband while the cameras flash around her and Chris.

 

With a prickle to his spine, Tom looks away from the couple, Tiffany’s words resurfacing in his mind, mocking him.

 

_ Are you waiting for him? Hoping that he will leave his wife and come to you?- _

 

“Tom? Is everything ok?”

 

Pressing his lips together against some spiteful words which are tipping on his tongue, Tom looks back to Maddie.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Clearing his throat, Tom smoothes his stubble, collecting himself.

 

“Yeah, yeah, everything's fine.”

 

They exchange a few more friendly sentences, but after another quick glance at Chris and Elsa posing for the cameras and an uneasy rumble in his stomach, Tom decides that this, most probably, is not the best place for him to be standing at the moment.

 

As kindly as possible, Tom tells Maddie that it has been a pleasure, then asks her to excuse him as he would like to prepare himself before heading to the stage with the rest of the actors.

 

The girl nods at him, smiling.

 

“Oh, yes, definitely,” she says, slight blush touching her cheeks, “So - would you like to talk some other time then? Have a drink somewhere together?”

 

Her intention dawns on him, and as a force of habit - Tom takes the girl’s petite figure, her nice laughter and flowing auburn hair - and purses his lips.

 

“Maddie, you are lovely,” he tells her quietly.

 

A little more than a year ago, he would have been captivated by her cute looks and sweet charm. 

 

“But this- this is not the right time.”

 

Maddie is silent at first, but soon enough she bites her lower lip with mild embarrassment. 

 

“Of course, of course, I understand.”

 

Tom smiles kindly at her. He prolongs their chat just a little more, compliments her, soothing away some of the sting of his refusal, but soon enough, he takes his leave and carries himself to a further corner of the lobby. 

 

When he finds a relatively secluded spot, Tom turns his back to the photographers who are taking pictures of the newcomers, and watches the view through the window while sipping from a cup of cool water.

 

He is watching the sun is slowly setting down over the city, spilling orange light beams over its buildings, brighter rays spreading through the clouds, and along with the sunset’s spectacle, more memories rise.

_Are you out of your mind Tom?_ _He’s married, he’s got kids-_

 

With a low grunt, Tom shakes his head.

 

“Useless, useless thinking,” Tom mutters under his breath, “she knows nothing.”

 

He is emptying his cup of water a single sip, still gazing at the fine view, when a hand lands on his shoulder.

 

“Tom, what’s up.”

 

At the mostly familiar voice, Tom turns his head.

 

“Sy, hey.” 

 

“We need you for some group photographs, ok?” 

 

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a moment,” Tom answers with a quick nod.

 

“Thanks, buddy,” Sy smiles, taps Tom’s back, and turns to walk back to the photographers’ zone.

 

Once the man is gone, Tom steals another final, lazy glance at the window.

 

“Alright,” he mouths to himself, watching the sun’s now reddish shine washing the city with color - persistent and untamed.  

 

“Let’s get this over with.”

  
  
  


\----------------

  
  
  
  


Not so long afterwards, when they begin to pose for their group photographs, their eyes meet for the first time. 

 

They exchange a humble greeting, nothing more than a quiet ‘hey’ spoken to each other, with Chris’s gaze lingering on him until the photographer directs him and Elsa to take one step to the left.

 

“Alright people, let’s um, let’s take two or three more shots of everyone together, ok?”

 

With a joined agreement, the group members - including Tom, Chris, and Elsa, rearrange themselves according to the man’s instructions.

 

The photographer gives them a few more posing touch ups, but soon enough the man clicks his camera - and their final photo is taken.

 

Once the photographer announces that his job is done and thanks them, Tom starts making his way out of the crowd, but gradually, he slows down to a halt, stilling himself.

 

He should at least greet them properly. Ignoring both of them for the rest of the evening will only make him feel awkward-

 

“Hey, Tom.”

 

_ Ah _ , Tom thinks with a vicious smile -  _ your lady beat me to it, _ and turns around, bracing a welcoming smile to his face.

 

“Elsa, my lady,” he greets her, joining her giggle as she approaches him along with Chris, her face lit with a bright, elegant smile.

 

“It’s great to see you,” Tom tells her with a gentle bow of his head, his heart beat growing prominent in his chest, “You look lovely.”

 

Elsa nods at his compliment, still chuckling.

 

“It has been a while, hasn’t it,” she says, smiling warmly at him.

 

“Yes, It has,” Tom answers, and only then raises his eyes to meet Chris’s.

 

“Tom, how are you,” Chris asks with a small curve to his lips, extending his arm for a handshake, and today - Tom does not hesitate to take it.

 

“I’m all good, Chris,” he replies, his chest expanding in a deep breath while their hands are touching.

 

“Both of you look beautiful tonight, actually,” Tom adds softly, holding Chris’s stare for only a moment.

 

Chris nods, bashful, a polite smirk crossing his lips.

 

“Thank you, you too,” he murmurs.

 

“So, how have you been Tom?” Elsa asks him, drawing Tom’s attention back to her, “Chris told me you’ve been renting a nice apartment for yourself,” she asks, and Tom lowers his gaze as an uneasy chuckle escapes him.

 

_ Did he now. _

 

“I’ve been doing well,” he tells Elsa, “And-”

 

_ And I kissed him,  _ his mind whispers-

 

“And yes, I’ve been renting a pleasant flat nearby the city’s center,” he finishes casually, stealing a glance at Chris, who is watching Tom intently, but says nothing.

 

Elsa tells a bit more about their own present apartment which they are currently renting on the other far side of the city, and throughout their friendly exchange, Chris remains mostly passive, his expression unreadable.

 

_ If he wants silence, let him have it,  _ Tom thinks, and in return, almost does not address him at all.

 

Their conversation flows into more neutral waters from there on - indeed, Chris and Elsa are a great couple, and when Sy re-appears behind Tom to inform them that all the actors are being now called into the conference hall - Tom uses the opportunity to excuse himself over to the men’s room.

 

He wants an opportunity to catch his breath - alone.

 

“Elsa, it is great to see you again,” he says, and means it. She really is a lovely woman.

 

“And you Chris-” Tom nods at him, no handshake this time,-

 

_ You, I needed you yesterday, - _

 

“As always, it was a pleasure.”

  
  


\-------------------

  
  
  


The men’s room chamber is thankfully empty when Tom closes the door behind him.

 

Breathing deeply, Tom nears the sink, places his palms flat against the sink’s pale marble, and bows his head.

 

When the sting starts tingling his chest and climbs up his throat, Tom presses his fist to his mouth.

 

The image of Elsa’s arm braced over Chris’s, mixed with Tom’s memories from last night with Tiffany - Tom almost laughs at how obnoxiously these elements twist along each other in his belly. 

 

Instead of laughing - He coughs into his fist, the muffled clatter of his cough resonating back from the chamber’s walls.

 

Gradually, as the tightness in his chest to eases and his breath returns to normal, Tom wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, then splashes his faces with cold water.

 

He dries his skin with some paper handkerchiefs, daring only a single look at the mirror -  making sure his face is deprived of any revealing flush before he climbs the stage and faces the press. 

 

He will do well up there, he tells himself. 

 

And so will Chris.

 

Both of them will act like professionals on the stage, smile at everyone, answer all the necessary questions - and make this conference look impeccable.

They are so very good at this, after all. 

  
  
  


\-------------------

  
  
  


“Here, Chris, you see? your seat is right there next to Tom.”

 

Chris looks at the direction the staff member is pointing at, and sees Tom already positioned at his appointed seat behind the table, his face blank as he stares straight ahead.

 

“Yeah, I see it.”

 

“Brilliant,” the man says, “Jamie is supposed to show up in just a few minutes, and she will be sitting to your left,  alright?”

 

Chris nods at him, turning to head over to his seat.

 

“Sure, yeah. Thank you.”

 

The man taps Chris’s shoulder with a smile, and with his mind already considering his options for a conversation, Chris heads to his appointed seat.

 

He has been anxious about this event ever since he’d been informed that Elsa’s presence is kindly required for this conference.

 

Indeed, during the inevitable encounter with his wife Tom was polite and friendly, very believably so, but Chris knows better.

 

A few steps away from his seat, Tom appears to be fastening his cuffs around his wrists.

 

Carefully, Chris draws the chair from the table, and sits next to Tom.

 

“Hey.”

 

Momentarily regarding at Chris then returning to observe his cuffs, Tom nods at him.

 

“Hello.”

 

With a mild hum, Chris lowers his gaze to the table and absently taps the pages with tonight’s itinerary with his fingers, moving onwards with the only question he can think of.

 

“Are you ok?” he asks lightly, and waits.

 

Now moving to rearrange his tie, Tom simply looks ahead as he reassembles the tie’s knot. 

 

“You have a fine woman at your side Chris, that’s all I have to say.”

 

To this, Chris’s jaws grind against each other, swallowing the verbal fast hit.

 

He turns to face to the audience, covering his eyes at the suddenly bright lights shining directly at him, and breathes deeply.

 

He can’t do or say anything right now, not even offer a weak apology. Not while they are on stage.

 

After moments of tense silence, Jamie appears and takes her seat next to Chris, and right after her arrival, they are informed that the conference is about to begin.

 

Both him and Tom greet Jamie, and afterwards return to mutedly observe the last reporters take their seats at the back rows.

 

“Don’t let this get to you Chris, we’ll get this conference done, smooth and easy,” Tom suddenly breaks the suspense, not looking at Chris as he speaks.

 

“We are quite good at this,” he says, his voice low - meant only for Chris to hear.   

 

“No one will notice anything.”

  
  
  


\----------------------

  
  
  


Indeed, the conference moves along in a well enough manner.

 

Tom leads the conference with interesting answers, good spirit, and just the right amount of witty humor.

 

Chris listens to him speak, smiles at his pleasantry, and fulfills his professional on the stage duty as well.

 

How Tom manages to do this, to preserve his focus and speak so fluently, to change his demeanor within mere moments - Chris does not know.

  
  
  


\---------------

  
  
  
  


When the conference is over and the actors begin to leave their seats from around the table, Chris takes his time. 

 

He follows Tom with his eyes as he descends the stage then walks out of the hall back into the lobby, and lets out a sigh, resigned.

 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Chris descends the stage as well, and goes to find Elsa.

 

He moves past his colleagues, hunting for his wife until he finally locates her among the crowd. 

 

When he comes near enough and sees Elsa laughing and chatting with two other ladies, Chris slows down his steps to a halt - and watches her.

 

_ This is your chance _ , his instinct informs him.

 

With a deep breath, Chris hates lying to her, he closes the remaining distance between them and touches to Elsa’s shoulder.

 

“Hey,” she meets him with a smile.

 

“Hey,” Chris replies, leaning closer to her so he won’t have to raise his voice.

 

“I am going to catch some fresh air, find Tom perhaps, have a few words with him while you are here with the ladies, is that ok with you?”

 

After a moment of consideration, Elsa nods at him.

 

“Sure, just don’t disappear on me again, ok?”

 

Chris chuckles at that, but chooses to keep it simple at the moment.

 

“I’ll be right there in the lobby,” he says, then kisses Elsa’s cheek.

 

“I’ll catch you later then,” she replies and smiles at him in return, “Tell Tom he did great up there.” 

 

“I will,” Chris says, and turns around, heading towards the lobby.

 

_ I don’t disappear _ , he thinks as he makes his way through the guests.

 

_ It’s just that many, many times, I have so very little to say. _

  
  
  
  
  


\------------------

  
  
  
  


He crosses the conference hall, loosening his tie over his neck, those small ripples of guilt and apprehension vibrating through his body as he walks.

 

An internal voice warns him that Tom might not even want to see him at the moment, but Chris decides that this time, he won’t remain mute, and walks on forward.

 

Ending the evening without any token of peace will only send Chris to whirl through some restless, dream-ridden sleep.

  
  
  
  


\--------------------------

  
  
  


Once the last question is asked and answered, Tom lets out a small sigh of relief.

 

Standing up from his seat, Tom makes his way out of the hall room, letting his legs carry him through the more secluded corners of the lobby.

 

When he spots the side doors that lead to the small balcony he was aiming for, Tom heads their way and walks through them, inhaling sharply when he meets the outside’s cool breeze.

 

Being close to the city’s boundaries, the night here smells like rain and earth, the air is cool yet somewhat moist, and Tom breathes deeply as he leans his elbows over the balcony’s banister, beholding the shadowy view of the forested hills located a few miles away.

 

Minutes pass, the crowd's’ chatter is only a faint noise behind him as Tom regards the view - until the sound of mild footsteps reaches him.

 

When he turns and identifies the entering figure, Tom raises an eyebrow at him, and returns to lean over the banister.

 

“What did I tell you,” Tom says when Chris comes to stand next to him, “We did brilliantly.”

 

Chris hums, leaning over the banister and looking ahead.

 

“Yeah, you were wonderful out there.”

 

At this, a dry chuckle crawls out of Tom’s mouth.

 

“Oh, boy,” he drawls, “That’s it, that’s exactly why they love you. You’re not just good looks Chris, you’re a bloody gentleman.”

 

Tom waits for a response, hopes to needle Chris a little, and when none comes, he turns back to watch the view again with a sigh.

 

This, this little moment of the two of them standing alone on the small terrace with the beautiful view ahead of them and no one to disturb - it can almost be considered as romantic.

 

And yet, this moment is far from being considered so.

 

“Tom,” Chris says after a while, his gaze far, “I’m not a complete idiot, I came to see how are you.”

 

Tom taps his fingers on the banister, his body shivering despite himself as a brisk wind blows over the balcony.

 

“How am I,” he repeats quietly, wondering how would Chris respond should Tom tell him how he lay alone in his bed last night, insulted and hurt, missing his company like a girl in need.

 

Tom straightens back from the banister, shoving his hands into his pockets against the cold.

 

_ How am I. _

 

Tom tilts his chin, slowly inhaling the cool air as he considers his next words.

 

“I’ve received an offer for a part in an interesting project, not too long ago.”

 

Puzzled, Chris turns to look at him.

 

“A new part?” he asks, baffling over Tom’s seemingly unrelated announcement.

 

“Well, ok, is it any good?”

 

Tom nods idly, reviewing the role’s offer in his mind, remembering the auditions he’d gone through, the preparations he’d made.

 

“It’s an excellent opportunity, actually, It’s a major part in a respectable project, managed by professional people in turn.”

 

Chris nods, watching Tom intently as he speaks.

 

“Ok,” he says mildly, waiting for Tom to say more.

 

Tom looks at him, reviewing Chris’s strong jaws, the slight stubble covering his cheeks.

 

“It is a television series, and it is to be filmed in northern France.” 

 

Chris stares at him.

 

Quieted moments pass wordlessly, but soon, when Tom adds nothing more, heavy realization dawns over his face.

 

Chris shuffles over his feet, his gaze now turning to wander aimlessly around the balcony as he continues to mull over Tom’s statement.

 

“How long,” he asks eventually.

 

Tom flicks his cold fingers inside his pocket, unhappy with his answer.

 

“I’ll have to move my residence to France or the UK,” he says, overruling his reluctance, “for about a year, give or take.”

 

Chris’s stare ensues, and slowly, a deep frown forms over his face. 

 

Soon, though, a long sigh leaves Chris’s mouth, and he lowers his gaze to the floor.

 

“Are you taking it?” 

 

Tom huffs at this and pulls at his nose, his breath coming out sniffy and dry.

 

He’d used to believe that the answer to this question shall come easily to him after all these months, after rethinking this matter over and over, but the reality has only come to offer him the opposite.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

After another troubled stare, Chris shakes his head and shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumping, exasperated.

 

Long, reverend silence flow between them, and gradually, whooshes of dry, cool wind gush around the balcony, causing Tom’s teeth to gnaw together with small shivers.

 

Eventually, Chris turns to look at the now completely darkened view, and speaks.

 

“What...When did this, I mean…” he starts, then falters with a quiet whisper.

 

“I had no idea, Tom.”

 

Hearing his voice, Tom bites his lip, his chest rising and falling while he is watching Chris’s reaction to the newly disclosed information.

 

_ Say something,  _ he wills Chris with his mind.

 

_ Say you don’t want me to go, say you miss me, just say it, say all of it. _

 

But, times passes and Chris remains wordless, his brows furrowed in a constant, troubled frown, and Tom’s fist clenches over the banister’s icy metallic material.

 

_ I will tell him everything _ , he thinks,  _ he will know about this. _

 

“There is more,” he says, the words piling in his stomach, not waiting for Chris to answer.

 

“Since last night, me and Tiffany - we’re done.”

 

At once, Chris lifts his gaze to Tom, startled.

 

“What?” he whispers, “What? What happened?”

 

Tom tilts his chin, cocking his head at him.

 

“She confronted me after being suspicious of me being unfaithful to her-,” he reveals, raising an eyebrow at Chris.

 

“With you.” 

 

Mouth pressed tightly shut, Chris is rendered speechless in front of him, standing as still as a statue.

 

“She said she’s been wondering about the nature of our dynamics over the past few months, and it turns out that some of her observations from my birthday party had sealed her opinion about the matter.”

 

Tom breathes deeply and wipes his nose, remembering Tiffany’s ruthless questions, her insulting words.

 

“She asked me whether you and I had spent a night together,” he says, a dry chuckle falling out of him, “she asked me whether we’re having a preposterous, secret affair.”

 

Chris blinks at him, his face taut and still. 

 

“What did you do?” he murmurs, his eyes not leaving Tom’s.

 

Tom wipes his nose and meets his stare, considering his answer before he speaks it.

 

“I denied everything Chris,” he says eventually, his previous smirk slowly fading away from his mouth.

 

_ Everything but wanting you,  _ Tom thinks crookedly, but does not say.

 

_ And why should I tell him? why should I tell him how I feel if I can’t even call him when I need him? _

 

“I told her we’ve never laid a finger on each other.”

 

Chris downcasts his gaze at this, puzzling Tom’s words together, then shakes his head, his forehead creased in confusion.

 

“Then, I don’t- I don’t understand, why did you go separate?”

 

“Well,” Tom chuckles sardonically, “After sharing this delightful discussion with her, I made it quite clear I was not interested in pursuing anything with her, and she left shortly afterwards.”

 

Chris looks at him, inspecting Tom’s face, his eyes turning gentle and sad.

 

“She was unkind to you, wasn’t she,” he says quietly.

 

Tom straightens up, unprepared for the sudden change in their demeanor, but it moves him nevertheless, and his restrained anguish uses the offered opportunity to show its face.

 

“Yes, she was,” he tells Chris, his belly warming as he speaks, “I had the pleasure of being told that I am out of my mind, then I was accused of degrading you to infidelity, of drawing you away from your family.”

 

Sighing deeply, Chris bites his lip, his face stricken with worry.

 

“God, Tom, I don’t know what to say, I’m so sorry.”

 

Swallowing down the fullness in his throat, Tom turns away from Chris, agitated.

 

“I don’t need your apology,” Tom tells him, blinking rapidly at the darkened view.

 

_ I needed you _ .

 

“Forget it, Chris,” he mutters, “last night is over, and like I said, me and her - we’re done.”

 

Behind him, Tom hears a frustrated, low groan.

 

He hears Chris stepping closer, coming to hover at his side.

 

“Why are you telling me this now?” he asks him, and Tom turns to look at him, raising a doubtful eyebrow in response.

 

“I mean, I can’t… I can’t do anything right now,” he protests, gesturing his hands at Tom’s body, “I can’t even-,”

 

“You can’t do what, exactly?” Tom cuts in, turning to face him fully, “Can you even say it out loud?”

 

Chris pauses, taken aback, and Tom leans away from the banister, advancing closer to him.

 

“You asked me how I am, and what I told you implies exactly how I feel,” he tells him, his body shivering against the intensifying night’s chill, his palms stiff and icy at his sides.

 

“Should I have called you last night instead? While you were spending time with your family?" 

 

His challenge is met with silence at first, nothing but Chris’s distressed stare, but then another whistle of chilled wind is heard, rushing over Tom’s face, stinging his bare neck, and all at once, Tom feels very, very cold. 

 

Immediately, as if in an instinct, he covers his mouth with his palm, just before his cough breaks out of him, dry and unpleasant, mostly stifled into his tight fist.

 

After it calms, Tom feels Chris’s hand over his shoulder, touching him gently.

 

“Tom, come on, it’s cold out here,” he pleads.

 

“I’m not sure what to say right now”, he tries, fumbling over with his own tongue, “you said plenty, maybe we should-”

 

Behind them, a small knock on the balcony’s door is heard, then another one.

 

“Um, Chris?”

 

Both of them shift their attention to the door, and Chris removes his arm from Tom’s shoulder.

 

“Yeah, Sy. I hear you.”

 

Si peeks his head from behind the door, smiling politely at them.

 

“Chris, your wife is looking for you in the lobby.”

 

With a curt nod, Chris acknowledges him, and Tom turns his head away, biting his lip from laughing into Chris's face.

 

_ This is how it always ends. _

 

“Ok, thank you. I’ll be there shortly.”

 

After Sy leaves, Chris looks behind Tom’s shoulder, once again struggling with his words, but Tom shakes his head at him, a different sense of ire rising within him.

 

_ I’ll always be second to her. _

 

“Tom, I-”

 

“No," he stops him, "go to her."

 

"Tom, wait a moment-"

 

"So you can do what? Disappear into the lobby not now, but in two, three minutes?" Tom asks him, tilting his chin in the lobby's direction.

 

"Your wife is waiting for you, go to her."

 

Chris stares at him, unmoving, but Tom breaks their proximity, heading towards the banister to gaze at the night sky.

 

"Tom,” Chris implores from behind him, ”It's too cold to be standing out here," but Tom only looks ahead, his lips pulled into a thin line.

 

Elsa has Chris by her side, and he envies her, right to his heart’s core.

 

"Go, just go."

 

Tom hears no response at first. Chris remains there, standing still behind him, but eventually  after a low, frustrated grunt, the sound of Chris's quiet footsteps reaches Tom’s ears, carrying Chris away, out of the small balcony.

 

Exhaling tightly, Tom clenches and unclenched his fists inside his pockets, trying to warm his ice-cold fingers.

 

_ Jealous of a man's wife,  _ he thinks with contempt, rubbing his eyes with the base of his palm, H _ ow did I come to his? _

 

Hissing under his breath, Tom glances over the small terrace. 

 

It is quiet and peaceful, and yet, even though he could use the momentary serenity to gather his calm before re-entering the lobby, Tom finds he does not appreciate the offered composure.

 

“Jealous of Chris’s wife,” Tom mutters in a low voice, “unbelievable.”

 

Knocking his fist over the banister, Tom clears his dry throat.

 

He is repositioning his jacket and waist coat around his torso, preparing to turn and leave the balcony back into the lobby, when quiet footsteps slowly sound from the balcony's floor again.

 

Upon hearing them, Tom furrows his eyebrows in surprise.

 

Both irritated and hopeful, Tom turns around to face the man.

 

“What is it,” he says, but upon recognizing the newcomer’s figure, Tom’s words falter.

 

“Hey there,” the stranger grins at him.

 

Bewilderment hits him at the unexpected tone and the barely familiar smile.

 

“What?” Tom murmurs stupidly.

 

This… This is not Chris.

 

“Took you two quite some time to finish your talk,” the man asks him playfully, then looks around the balcony.

 

“Damn, Tom, it’s freezing out here,” he says, rubbing his arms against the cold, “it’s much warmer in the lobby.”

 

The man looks at him, and smiles again.

 

"It’s crazy to just stand in here in this weather, come on, let's go inside."

  
  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  
  


'"What are you doing here?"

 

The man’s friendly grin forms over his mouth again.

 

"Well, I manage two teams of reporters in the ENP channel company, and I have two new rookies here tonight, covering this event. I came to see how they are doing out on the field."

 

Tom nods slowly at him, taking in the information.

 

"I was watching the Q and A conference, by the way, I was sitting in one of the chairs in the back of the hall," he says, then leers at Tom.

 

"You spoke nicely up there, always interesting, never dull."

 

Tom smirks thinly at him.

 

"Yeah, it appears that I gave a good show today," he says, then creases his forehead as he tries to recall correctly, "Thank you, um, forgive me. Alan, right?"

 

The man smiles.

 

"You’re welcome, and yeah, that’s me," he says, appeased, then gestures at the doors leading to the balcony with his chin.

 

“You and Chris had just carried some discussion in that frozen little terrace,” he notes, causing Tom’s eyebrow to twitch.

 

_ Chris _ , his mind argues,  _ of course he knows Chris’s name _ , yet hearing it from this man’s mouth, it just feels - peculiar. 

 

“What did you two discover in there?”

 

This time, at the implied intrusion into his and Chris’s personal conversation, Tom’s eyebrow rises to its full potential.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

The man, Alan, huffs an apologetic smile at Tom, rising his palms in retreat.

 

“You’re right, you’re right, let me rephrase that.”

 

“After seeing you on the stage during the conference, I decided I’d come by and say hello. I caught you leaving the hall into the lobby, and then I saw you entering that little terrace by yourself. I was a few meters away, about to follow you, but Chris preceded me.”

 

“I hung around with some folks here while I was waiting for you two to finish, and when I saw Chris leaving the terrace later on, he looked a little… shaken. So - I was simply wondering if anything dramatic happened out there.” 

 

“I did not mean to pry, of course.” Alan finishes.

 

Tom observes Alan, inspects his face as he speaks - and decides that he is saying the truth. 

 

“I and Chris had a mild argument about work, nothing exciting,” Tom replies, indicating the end of the discussion about this matter, then furrows his eyebrows, looking inquisitively at Alan.

 

“You were about to… follow me into the terrace?” 

 

Alan smirks at him, then pursues his lips together, momentarily thoughtful.

 

“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat, “you looked so handsome up there during the conference, your smile was mesmerizing, I was charmed.” 

 

Alan tilts his head, looking right into Tom’s eyes.

 

“The night is practically over, my boys’ job is done here, and so,” he says, his smirk widening, “I thought I’d ask you out for a spontaneous drink.”

 

Tom stares wordlessly at the man, an uncommon sense of loss numbing his wits.

 

On a pure instinct, he looks around, searching among the crowd for another man, another man whom Tom wished was standing by his side right at this moment.

 

Chris is nowhere to be seen.

 

_ Nowhere to be seen _ , Tom thinks, a notion that oppresses his body and weighs over his heart.

 

“No one will see us leaving, and I promise to take us to a nice place, nothing noisy or crowded, just nice. “

 

Tom swallows down his throat.

 

The words are coming from the wrong person, and his stomach is resenting it, twisting around itself.

 

“I, uh-” he mutters, his tongue tied in his mouth.

 

_ Chris, where are you? _

 

Alan looks around them, then cocks his head at Tom.

 

“Are you not done in here for tonight?” he asks, puzzlement well written over his face, “Are you waiting for someone?”

 

Tom blinks at him, that last question leaving a throbbing whisper in his mind.

 

_ Are you waiting for him? Hoping that he will leave his wife and come to you? _

 

Grinding his jaws together, Tom shakes his head, jolting away from that thought.

 

“No, no-” he says, his heart hardening in his chest.

 

_ I despise this _ , Tom’s pride snaps within him,  _ I wait for no one, _ -

 

“No,” he repeats, swallowing down and breathing deeply, “I’m- I’m not waiting, no.”

 

Lips parted for breath, Tom eyes Alan’s figure again, noting his facial features, his posture, and his clothes.

 

Men have approached him before - but he had always refused, it had never been relevant, and the only man he’s ever been with - Tom looks beyond Alan’s shoulder, but Chris is still not in sight.

 

“Great, that’s great, so,” Alan says then chuckles, suddenly reaching to touch Tom’s arm, “So what do you think? Let’s go then? We’ll make a quick, quiet exit, how’s that?”

 

_ He’s with someone else, Tommy boy _ , Tom’s wounded pride reminds him.

 

_ He’s with someone else, while you are about to spend another night alone, reviewing Tiffany’s insults once more, or perhaps replaying that little conversation in that icy balcony in your mind - over, and over, and over again -  _

 

_ Like a desperate little lady-  _ his ego throws in, causing Tom to blink once more.

 

“Alright,” he whispers, almost out of breath, suddenly wishing to leave that lobby as soon as possible, “yeah, let’s go.”

 

Giving Tom’s arm another squeeze before releasing him, Alan breaks into a happy grin in front of him.

 

“Brilliant, brilliant. I’m the happiest man in town at the moment. Come on, follow me, I’ll show you the shortest path to the door.”

  
  
  
  


\-----------

  
  
  
  


As Tom trails behind Alan towards the exit, he does not look back once -  

 

but twice.

  
  
  


\-----------

  
  
  


After leaving the balcony to find Elsa, Chris manages to see Tom only one time.

 

When Chris sees him, Tom is speaking to a guest, a man Chris is not familiar with. 

 

Chris’s gaze lingers on the man, trying to pair his face with any identity he might recall from the set.

 

Soon enough, though, before his memory provides him with any information, Chris is called back into the small talk he and Elsa are having with another friendly couple, and with a small smile, he goes back to contribute his share to the conversation.

 

That night, after this occasion, Tom remains unseen.

  
  
  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  
  


Despite Alan’s best intentions, the small pub he leads them to is rather teeming with a crowd, with muffled sounds of music surrounding its main entrance.

 

When they come to stand close enough to the pub’s foyer, just outside its doorway, Alan whistles with displeasure upon noting the busy queue of people waiting to be allowed into the pub’s internal lounge.

 

“Tom, wait,” he says, touching Tom’s arm as he halts them both into a standstill, “I know a few men from the inside, I want to go and see whether they can fix us with a table without having to squeeze through all these people, would you mind waiting out here for a few minutes?”

 

Tom eyes the establishment, not entirely sure of just how keen he is on spending the rest of his night in there, yet, for now, he is thankful for leaving the conference’s building. 

 

“Yeah, sure - I’ll wait.”

 

He is almost positive that should he reveal it, his identity will grant them both a fast access into the bar, but Tom chooses to keep this card close to his chest. Being recognized is perhaps the least agreeable notion Tom can think of at the moment.

 

“Alright, good,” Alan answers with a mirthful grin, touching Tom’s shoulder, already turning to go, “I’ll be back in a few, don’t go anywhere, yeah?”  

 

“I’ll be right here,” Tom tells him, reassuring him with a small smile as he goes.

 

Once Alan is gone, Tom sneaks his palms into his thick jacket’s pockets, quietly looking around him, inspecting this less familiar part of the city. After a short while, Tom lifts his head to observe the tall buildings nearby, and in turn, higher up.

 

Most are hidden behind the city’s architecture, but the dark patches of sky that Tom does manage to see are barely dotted with stars.

 

It is then, when the lull of the night re-invites his thoughts to gush and swirl, causing Tom to close his eyes, that his cell phone begins to vibrate beside his pocketed palm.

 

Stiffly, Tom draws his device out of his jacket, and when his intuition about the caller’s identity is confirmed, his chest loosens with some foolish relief.

 

“Idiot,” Tom rumbles in a low voice, and takes the call.

 

“Yeah,” he says, inhaling deeply, “Chris, hey.”

 

“Tom?” Chris starts, “Are you still here?”

 

Shoving his fist a little deeper into his pocket, Tom turns around with his back to the pub, now facing the opposite side of the street.

 

“No,” he says, gazing ahead, “I left. I needed some air.”

 

Tom takes a quick look at his wristwatch. 

 

According to his best knowledge, most of the guests are still present at the conference along with Chris, yet Tom hears only silence from the other side of the line, but for the sound of Chris’s voice.

 

“Where are you?”

 

There is a dark tint to Chris’s tone, and upon noticing it, Tom turns his head, peeking at the pub behind him while a ball of weight is forming in his stomach.

 

“I went out to the city with a friend,” he says simply.

 

A pause follows to this, and Tom grates his jaws together.

 

_ Now you know how it feels to be left behind. _

 

“A friend of yours?”

 

Tom lowers his gaze to the paved floor of the street, frowning at the well-worn pavement tiles. 

 

“Yes. It’s no one you know,” he replies, a small, darker part of him content with the opportunity to make Chris search for him, chase him around.

 

A moment passes with no response, then a low, uneven breath emerges from Chris on the other side of the line.

 

“Tom, I didn’t want the evening to end like this. I wanted to talk to you a little bit more before you left,-”

 

Tom shakes his head, pursing his lips tightly together. 

 

_ Where were you yesterday night with this phone call when I needed you? _

 

“Talk a little bit more? What, you mean another five-minute conversation which is abruptly halted as you are once again snatched back to your wife’s side?”

 

_ Come here. Come here and get me. Tell me you want me and take me home. _

 

“You know my address. If you want to talk, come over and we’ll have a proper conversation like two decent people.”

 

He is harsh with him, Tom knows this fully well, but his ire and damaged ego are pouring into his belly, filling his chest and unleashing his mouth.

 

_ Let him be jealous. Let him wonder where the hell I went to. _

 

A long, restrained pause stretches over the quiet line, and Tom can practically picture Chris standing there, his eyes large and his lips parted as he tries to overcome Tom’s hardboiled words.

 

“Tom,” Chris starts quietly, “To,- Tonight is such a short notice, I-, I won’t make it,-”

 

“I think I’ll be able to show up tomorrow, or perhaps two days from now, I’ll make the time, ok?”

 

Tom’s heart softens at the statement, his mind filling with images of them talking, kissing, having rushed sex on his bed, and he shakes his head, scolding himself at how easily he is moved by this man.

 

“As you wish. I’ll see you tomorrow at the interview then.”

 

Mute moments pass, and Tom urges himself to finish the conversation, but instead - he finds himself listening to Chris’s low, deep breathing, waiting for him to speak.

 

“Tom,” Chris says eventually, his voice gentle and pleading, “Tom, I’m so sorry for what she said to you.”

 

Once again taken by surprise, Tom lifts his gaze and looks upwards, biting his lip as he listens.

 

“It’s not true, ok? Whatever she said about you, it means nothing, nothing but dust, Tom,” he continues softly, and Tom bites his lip tighter, a lump forming in his throat.

 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this, I truly am.”

 

Tom nods absently at the empty street, slowly gathering back his calm. It’s enough of this for tonight.

 

“Ok Chris, ok. I’ll see you tomorrow at the interview, alright?”

 

A low hum comes from Chris’s side.

 

“Yeah, ok. Take care of yourself.”

 

“You too Chris. Good night,” Tom murmurs, ending the call right away and sliding his cellphone back to his jacket.

 

He looks around the quiet street, then wipes his stuffy nose and brushes away the slight dampness from his eyes.

 

Tom glimpses at his palm, licking his lips as he cleanses it with a small handkerchief, and coughs lightly to clear his throat.

 

“The volatile, tender-hearted admirer that I’ve become,” Tom says very, very quietly, all to himself. 

  
  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


Shortly before they decide to leave conference, Chris excuses himself, telling Elsa he would like to make a short phone call.

 

He would usually be able maintain his composure and gather his patience instead of acting on an impulse, but tonight, Tom’s unexplained absence following to their charged discussion propels Chris into practice. 

 

After a quick tour, Chris locates a small, deserted dressing room which he deems suitable enough to grant him some nearly proper privacy for the following minutes.

 

Inside the room, Chris identifies the usual dressing room’s furniture set - a large mirror equipped with a small table and a matching chair to it.

 

Preferring to stand, Chris inhales deeply, stretching his neck as he extracts his cell phone from his back pocket. 

 

Finding the right number, Chris makes the call - his foot nervously tapping the floor as he listens to the dialing tone, and waits. 

 

When Chris hears the slight rustle of communication being wired, he swallows thickly, gathering as much calm as possible.

 

“Yeah,” Tom answers, “Chris, hey.”

 

Upon hearing Tom’s answering tone, Chris decides to drop the pleasantries. He understands right away that Tom won’t appreciate the gesture at the moment, and at any rate, his own time is borrowed.

 

“Tom?” he starts, “Are you still here?”

 

A somewhat muffled sound of footsteps is heard over the line before Tom answers.

 

“No,” Tom says, “I left. I needed some air.”

 

A small sigh leaves Chris’s mouth as he hears this, but then, the faint sound of music and human voices carried over the line’s background catch his attention.

 

_ Music?  _ He thinks, eyes narrowing in immediate suspicion _ , Where is he? _

 

“Where are you?”

 

Again, a slight pause occurs before Tom answers.

 

“I went out to the city with a friend,” comes the short answer.

 

_ A friend?  _ Chris thinks quickly, until a recent memory clicks in.

 

That man… That unfamiliar fellow Chris had last seen Tom conversing with at the lobby, is it him? Tom left along with that… stranger?

 

“A friend of yours?” Chris asks, unable to keep the grudge in a safe distance from his blood.

 

_ Who the hell is that guy? _

 

“Yes. It’s no one you know,” 

 

Clicking his tongue, Chris shakes his head, spite and frustration settling inside him.

 

That music in the background - Where did that little wise guy take Tom to? Meet some women in a city pub? Tom is not…. Tom is not like that, he is…

 

_ He is upset, and hurt. _

 

With an uneven breath, Chris touches his fist to the nearest wall.

 

They were supposed to talk before any of them left and went home. After all that was said, how can they leave it like this?

 

“Tom, I didn’t want the evening to end like this. I wanted to talk to you a little bit more before you left,-”

 

“Talk a little bit more? What, you mean another five minute conversation which is abruptly halted as you are once again snatched back to your wife’s side?” Tom suddenly cuts through, and Chris halts immediately, his mouth hung open in mid sentence.

 

“You know my address. If you want to talk, come over and we’ll have a proper conversation like two decent people.”

 

Chris pauses, blinking at the mirror, his fist rooted to the wall.

 

Only Tom can throw the truth at him like this, his words slashing through Chris’s chest and leaving his speechless like a rag doll. 

 

Distantly, Chris recalls some of the things Howard had said to him, and all at once - the details begin to fall into order along with the news about Tom’s offer to work abroad.

 

That they are different from each other, that Chris is lost to how to handle Tom - all of these matter not when one faces the rather simple reality.

 

While Chris wants to be close to him, there is a fair chance that Tom will move his residence to Europe for a year, where Chris, at the moment, cannot follow.

 

“Tom,” Chris starts quietly, “To,- Tonight is such a short notice, I-, I won’t make it,-”

 

Chris inhales before he continues, hearing Tom doing the same.

 

“I think I’ll be able to show up tomorrow, or  perhaps two days from now, I’ll make the time, ok?”

 

_ I’ll come. I’ll be there,  _ Chris thinks with a shiver. The thought of exposing himself to anyone frightens him beyond belief.

 

“As you wish. I’ll see you tomorrow at the interview then,” Tom tells him, the indifference in his tone twisting Chris’s stomach.

 

_ Yesterday he met with his sly girlfriend who taunted him, and now he is gone with that cocky loser who took him to some shabby party to do only god knows what- _

 

Chris closes his eyes, knocking his fist on the wall with a low thump.

 

That lady, Tiffany.

 

She knew, has known for many weeks or even months - yet she dragged Tom along until she deemed it suitable for her to lash at his most tender spot, then twisted the truth and damaged his pride.

 

She knew what was going on and she was smart enough to use all of her cards to their full extent.

 

“Tom,” Chris says quietly, “Tom, I’m so sorry for what she said to you.”

 

“It’s not true, ok? Whatever she said about you, it means nothing, nothing but dust, Tom,” he says, thinking about the times he had seen Tiffany with Tom.

He hopes he never sees that woman again.

 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this, I truly am,” he says, and listens to the distant rhythm of Tom’s slow footsteps, waiting for him to respond.

 

“Ok Chris, ok. I’ll see you tomorrow at the interview, alright?”

 

Humming low in his throat, Chris fastens his hold over his cellphone.

 

There is this itch inside him, and his body is burning to go. Go, and find him.

 

Chris raps his fist against the wall one more time, then draws back and shoves it into his trousers’ pocket.

 

“Yeah, ok. Sure. Take care of yourself,” he says, deciding to end their conversation.

 

The grudge that is gripping him has only ever taken Chris to commit deeds he later deeply regretted.

 

If he goes there and sees Tom with another woman… no. No.

 

“You too Chris. Good night,” Tom tells him, and the line is cut off before Chris is able to greet him back.

 

Slowly, Chris pockets his device, then looks at the small, empty dressing room, his eyes coming to rest on the mirror’s table and its matching chair.

 

He wants to kick that little chair, once, even twice, then spit some filthy words into the air - and relieve some of his ire.

 

He is observing the plain furniture, quietly contemplating his options, when footsteps sound from across the hall, causing him to blink, drawing him away from his previous malicious intentions .

 

Chris gives the targeted chair another long look, then squares his jaws, and walks towards the room’s exit.

 

“That cocky son of a bitch,” he growls, busting the door shut behind him with a low thud.

  
  
  
  


\-----------------------

  
  
  
  


When Alan returns, just a few moments after his conversation with Chris ended, he tells Tom that he’d managed to fix them with a small table at the corner of the bar.

 

Tom nods at him, pressing his tongue to his teeth as he listens to the man’s offer.

 

He’d been eager to leave the conference, refusing to remain behind to sulk and contemplate while Chris conveniently taps along with his wife, but now, after their rather overly dramatic phone call, Tom feels that, infact, his point was just made clear.

 

“Um, Alan, I’ll be frank with you,” he says, preferring honesty, “in a second thought, the place looks a little too crowded. I’m uh, I could really appreciate some other, more moderate location right now. Would it be ok if we headed somewhere else? Is that alright with you?”

 

At the unexpected request, Alan appears to be only momentarily unfazed, an easy smile quickly returning to his face.

 

“Oh, sure Tom, no problem at all. I was, infact, wondering whether we’d actually manage to enjoy that crammy little table in the corner anyway,” he says lightly, then raises a cheeky eyebrow at Tom.

 

“Would you rather we walked, then?”

 

“Walked?” Tom asks, puzzled.

 

“Yeah, exactly.”

 

Alan has lived in the city for years, he tells Tom, and he is familiar with nice, quiet streets they can calmly drift through.

 

“Ok,” Tom tells him after another glance at the busy, noisy pub, “sounds good enough to me.”   
  


  
  


\----------------------

  
  


During their unhurried stroll through the city’s streets, Alan is revealed as a friendly, communicative, and rather confident individual.

 

Upon an uncommon impulse, Tom lets Alan lead their conversation, allowing his thoughts to wander as Alan talks.

 

So, that’s what it’s like to be on a practically official date with a man.

 

Alan is not married, does not father any children, and conveniently so, now that Tiffany is gone, Tom is formally unattached.

 

_ Unattached. _

 

Alan tells Tom about his job, his parents and siblings who live in different parts of this very city, a story he shares which propels Tom to speak a little of his family in the UK as well.

 

Alan even turns out to be funny, Tom fluently discovers along their foot trip.

 

Tom laughs softly, both to the Alan’s wits, and to some other, darker amount of humor he finds to the whole situation of both of them night strolling through the city.

 

This unexpected attention from this man, or any other attention paid to him by other women, all of these seem to come to Tom so easily. 

 

So, very, easily.

  
  
  


\--------------------

  
  
  


“There, you see that? We’re here,” Alan grins at him, and Tom lifts his head, recognizing his apartment’s building.

 

“You were right,” he tells Alan with a chuckle, and he was - the man really did know hidden passages between streets Tom has never used before.

 

With the night almost past its peak, they are about to complete their hour long city stroll, and as they approach Tom’s building entrance, Tom is considering how exactly he should maneuver the closure to this evening. 

 

He is still contemplating his options, clicking his fingers inside his pocket, when suddenly - Alan is first to speak.

 

“I have a confession to make,” he says slowly.

 

Mildly alarmed, Tom peeks at him as they walk.

 

“Nothing horrible, I should hope.”

 

Amused, Alan chuckles.

 

“Oh no, no, not horrible, not at all. It’s about the conference, actually.”

 

Tom’s eyebrows furrow as he considers this.

 

“The conference?”

 

“Yeah,” Alan replies as they stop a few feet from the building’s main door, coming to face each other.

 

“I really did have those two rookies to look after in there tonight, but, in all honesty,” he says, his eyes intent on Tom, “I came to see you.”

 

Unprepared for the bold statement, Tom looks at him.

 

“I knew you were going to be there,” Alan tells him with a small smirk, “I wanted to meet you.”

 

Casting down his eyes from Alan’s intent gaze, Tom huffs a breathy chuckle, stomach slightly warmer.

 

“Alan,” he starts, his mind still wrapping around the resolute comment, “Really, I’m flattered.”

 

At this, Alan laughs softly, then closes the gap between them - and takes both of Tom’s hands with his.

 

At their touch, Tom’s belly twitches, the small hairs on his nape rising.

 

His instincts demand to take a step back and detach their physical contact, yet Tom remains still.

 

_ Chris is not the only man in this world,  _ his ego whispers, leading him.

 

Alan looks into his eyes, then squeezes Tom’s hands, and chuckles.

 

“Honestly, I can’t tell which I like more, this baffled, innocent look on your face, or that dazzling smile of yours I saw earlier,” he says, leaning his face to Tom’s.

 

_ He’s not the only one _ , Tom tells himself, parting his lips in a weightless gasp.

 

“I had a wonderful time with you, just as I thought I would,” Alan says softly, then drops one of Tom’s hands, comes to hold the back of Tom’s neck, and presses their mouths together.

 

Tom’s chest shudders, his breath shivery through his nose.

 

_ It’s just a kiss. _

 

Alan kisses him slowly, moving his lips gradually along Tom’s, his other hand coming to rest on Tom’s waist, lightly massaging his flesh.

 

Another gasp escapes Tom at the suggestive touch, and he lifts his arms, placing his palms over Alan’s forearms, trying to find his balance in their embrace.

 

With a low sigh in his throat, Alan steps closer to Tom, pressing their chests flush against each other. He pries open Tom’s lips, attempts to deepen their kiss, sliding his tongue into Tom’s mouth, until their tongues meet. 

 

At once, Tom’s thoughts shatter through- Alan draws him by his waist, pressing their hips together, what they are doing is so intimate, as if they are lovers lusting after each other-

 

It’s so futile, deceitful- 

 

So unnatural-

 

Tom’s eyes flutter open.

 

A cool shiver rushes through his body, and his hands shoot to Alan’s shoulders, fingers pressing.

 

_ No, no - I don’t want this -  _ Tom’s heart shrieks in his chest, and that’s it, that’s enough, please - 

 

“Alan, Alan, no, no  - wait.”

 

Alan does not respond at first, he continues to kiss him, until Tom pushes him back with some more intent, finally drawing them apart.

 

Alan blinks at him, slowly gathering back his focus.

 

“What happened?” he pants, “What’s wrong?” 

 

Tom looks at him, his arms’ muscles taut as they are holding Alan in place.

 

_ I already have a boyfriend _ , is his honest answer, is what he wants to say.

 

“We can't, Alan.”

 

Confusion dawns over Alan's features, and he looks around them - searching the empty street.

 

"Do you want to go to your apartment? Have some privacy? Is that it?"

 

Tom swallows, his lips still strangely soft from their kiss.

 

"No," he says, noticing again, while they are standing so close to each other, that he is taller than Alan.

 

How strange it is that he has to lean down in order to kiss him.

 

"I simply don’t want this.”

  
  
  
  


\--------------------

  
  
  
  
  


That night, Chris lies awake in his bed for long hours, and when he finally sleeps - he dreams.

 

In his dreams, Chris boards the wrong plane, and lands in an unknown country, where nobody knows him, nor where he came from.

 

When Chris asks the people around him how can he get back, they all look at him strangely, as he if what is he asking means nothing to them.

 

They don’t know what he should do in order to return.

 

What they do tell him, though, is that he shall have to find his own way home. 

 

All by himself.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter - Containing SPOILERS.
> 
> * Intense conversations and thoughts.  
> * More than platonic dynamics between one of our boy heroes and an OC.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is love?  
> Baby don't hurt me,  
> Don't hurt me no more.
> 
> What is right?  
> And what is wrong?  
> Please, give me a sign.
> 
>  
> 
> [What Is Love - Kiesza (Cover)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-01dsXDqGE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> You already know why it takes me a while to update, so I won't whine about it and just say that I do my best to update as fast as possible, I hope you see me in there :)
> 
> About this chapter -  
> Dear readers, this chapter is, in one word - intense. 
> 
> Once again I chose to place the warning in the footnotes to this chapter - since they contain some major spoilers.
> 
> My personal opinion is this - If you do not consider yourselves to be overly sensitive, then go on and read the chapter without reading the warning first, I believe you'll enjoy it best that way. I myself am a gentle person, and so I would never write something too explicit or offensive. 
> 
> I would like to dedicate this chapter to a very sweet reader who makes me smile with every comment she leaves - Gisela :) 
> 
> I am delighted that you are still reading this story, may you enjoy this chapter :)

When the first morning light slips through the window’s drapes and hits his eyelids, he turns his head over the pillow, squinting his eyes shut into the thin linens.

 

He succeeds in stealing a few additional minutes of sleep, but when his alarm clock snoozes for the second time, Tom surrenders with a grunt. 

 

He leaves his bed, kneading the back of his neck as he walks down the hallway - and enters the bathroom.

 

Just before he steps under the flow of boiling water, Tom lifts his hand, letting his fingertips graze over his lips as he remembers the previous night, closing his eyes when the hot spray of water touches his face.

 

_ An unfamiliar kiss _ , Tom muses later on when once again his fingers hover close to his mouth as he peeks at the mirror after shaving his stubble.

 

_ An unfamiliar kiss, with an unfamiliar man. _

  
  
  


\------------------------

  
  
  


While he is warming his palms around a cup of hot coffee, Tom’s cell phone ring sounds through the apartment’s walls.

 

Looking down the hall at the direction of his bedroom, Tom taps his fingers on the table as he considers the possibilities.

 

_ A call at this early hour,  _ he thinks _ , can only be from either Chris or Daniel _ .

 

Finishing his coffee in two large sips, Tom wipes his mouth with some kitchen cloth and heads to his bedroom.

 

When he inspects the number flashing on his device’s screen while it rings, Tom frowns a little.

 

The number’s identity is unknown.

 

Tom clicks his tongue, instinctively knowing this call not to be a regular one, and after another thoughtful glance at his room - he sweeps his finger over the screen.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Tom? Is that you?”

 

Tom blinks at the opposite wall, hand in his pocket. The voice speaking is not even remotely familiar to him, and this fact rises his sense of caution.

 

He never hands his personal phone number to strangers.

 

“Who is this?”

 

“Tom, this is Renly speaking, we met last summer at some auditions. You know who I am, don’t you.”

 

Tom snaps his fingers inside his pocket, remembering all at once.

 

“Renly, Renly - of course, of course I remember you. How are you? How have you been?” he asks, easing down an uneven breath, knowing rather well why this man is calling him.  

 

“I’ve been doing well, thank you,” Renly answers, “and don’t go hard on Daniel for giving me this number. I practically offered her some uncanny bribe in exchange for telling me how to contact you personally.”

 

Tom chuckles at this, running his hand through his hair as he exchanges a few more friendly pleasantries with Renly.

 

“So, Tom,” Renly starts after a short while, “let us be straightforward with each other, shall we,” he says, clearing his throat before he continues.

 

“Why are you hesitating with my offer?” he asks Tom plainly enough.

 

“Do you have any other pending, supposedly better opportunities which are causing you to reconsider?” 

 

Tom chuckles quietly at this, wondering just how many details did Renly manage to squeeze out of Daniel before he called. If these men want information, they shall obtain it.

 

“You want this part. I have no doubt about that, and you can’t convince me other wise.”

 

Tom listens carefully to the man, pressing his tongue against his teeth as he turns to stare at the urban view through his bedroom’s window.

 

“Renly, I’ve been-”

 

“Tom, my boy, listen to me,” Renly takes the lead over the conversation again.

 

“This part is meant for you. I want no one else to take it, you hear me? Just you. You are more than perfectly suitable for this role, and I can guarantee you that conducting this part shall only open far more prestigious doors for you in the future.”

 

Tom opens his mouth to answer him, his cheeks warm with flattery, but Renly interrupts him once more.

 

“No, Tom - please listen. I’m going to give you complete freedom with this character, alright? You go, be wild, and take it to the distances you see fit. I trust you with this, and I want you on the team. This is my best offer, and I wanted you to hear it directly from me.”

 

Somewhat overwhelmed, Tom continues to gaze out the window, his lips parted as Renly’s complements settle in his mind.

 

“I appreciate this Renly, I really do.”

 

Over the line, Tom hears Renly humming in approval.

 

“I will wait until this Friday for your positive answer about this,” he says with a chuckle, “You won’t regret this, son.”

 

Tom smiles under his breath at this.

 

_ It is that simple, isn’t it. _

 

“Alright, alright Renly - thank you for calling me with this.”

 

“I will see you soon Tom, here in France when we begin shooting,” he says playfully, “You take care.”

 

“You too Renly, take care,” Tom says, ending the conversation with a slow swish over the screen.

 

Carefully, Tom lowers himself to his bed, letting his cell phone slip out of his hand over the mattress as he sits.

 

His bedroom is awfully quiet this morning, and the minutes tick by. 

 

He needs to head out to the interview really soon if he wants to be there on time, but Tom remains seated, today’s maturing dawn shining too brightly once the clouds clear, revealing the sun behind them-

 

And Tom closes his eyes against the blinding light, his mind uneasy, his limbs tense, and his thoughts wandering afar.

  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  
  
  


When Tom pushes the door open and enters the set’s main shooting room, his presence is noted right away.

 

“Tom! There you are,” Sy calls, quickly approaching him, “Come on, Dana is waiting for you in the dressing room, we’re going to start shooting in just a few minutes.”

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Tom mutters as Sy guides him forward by the shoulder, “Some unexpected issues came up this morning.”

 

“Yeah, I was wondering where you are, but it’s ok, you are here now - and we’re all good,” Sy answers, to which Tom is only half listening while his eyes are roaming for someone else.

 

“Is Chris here already?” he asks idly, looking over the set around them. 

 

“Chris? Hemsworth you mean - yeah, yeah, he is right there,” Sy says, pointing his finger to a small shooting area to their side where the technical staff is setting their cameras and other equipment, “waiting for us to begin.”

 

And indeed, Chris is there, sitting in a rather tall chair, his attention set on one of the staff members who is speaking to him at the moment.

 

“Why? You need something from him?” 

 

Tom manages to steal only a few glances at Chris, until his sight is blocked by a hall Sy leads them both through, heading over to the dressing rooms.

 

“No,” Tom answers quietly, maneuvering through more staff members and production workers.

 

“I just wanted to know if he is here.”

  
  
  
  


\--------------------

  
  
  
  


Not too long afterwards, when Tom exits the hall after being tended in the dressing room, he sees Chris again.

 

When Tom approaches his seat, Chris notices him as well.

 

“Good morning,” Tom greets him, settling on his high chair.

 

“Hey, good morning,” Chris returns with a cautious smile, “Sy told me you’re being late,” he says carefully, “Are you ok?”

 

Tom observes him, noting his somewhat slumped shoulders and hunched posture.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Tom replies mildly, watching the dozens of staff members hustling around them as all the cameras and microphones are being set. Saying anything more specific than this at the moment will be ill-considered.

 

“I see. Well, I’m glad you came.” Chris mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and casting his eyes at the floor, looking suddenly pensive.

 

“Tom, I-, uh” he starts, pursing his lips together, “I thought I’d come over today, so we could um, talk a little.”

 

Tom looks at Chris’s contemplative posture, his belly warming at the request. 

 

Memories from his jarring separation from Tiffany continue to faze his thoughts, images from yesterday night - of his evening spent with another man baffle him still, yet that foolish little sentimental boy inside Tom was secretly hoping Chris would say this.

 

“That should be alright,” Tom says, licking his lips as he moderates his thoughts, “I’m-”

 

“Gentlemen!” the rather eager reporter suddenly cries earnestly, “we’re all set, shall we begin?”

 

Swallowing down the rest of his attempted sentence, Tom smirks at the reporter.

 

Beside him, Chris straightens on his chair, a slight flush rising up his neck.

 

“Fire away my friend,” Tom tells the interviewer, weathering down his urge at some peppered sarcasm, “we’re all yours.”

  
  
  
  


\--------------

  
  
  
  


A little more than an hour later, when the interview is completed, Chris is the first one to detach the small microphone from the dash of his shirt.

 

“So, Tom,” he starts and clears his throat, carefully folding the microphone’s small cable and placing it on the nearby table, “What I said about- about tonight, is that ok with you?”

 

Tom nods at him.

 

“It is, yeah,” he says, once again noting the slight slouch to Chris’s stance along with some evidence for fatigue tinting his eyes red.

 

“What’s up with you today,” Tom asks him, “you look… ragged.”

 

“Hmm,” Chris hums quietly, shrugging as he places his hands into his trousers’ pockets. 

 

“Nothing, really. Last night was uh- a little tricky. I didn’t sleep all the much.”

 

“Oh,” Tom says, looking right into Chris’s eyes.

 

_ You are having bad dreams again, aren’t you. _

 

“It’s nothing, Tom,” Chris tries to reassure him, touching his hand to his chin, “so - is eight o’clock fine with you? I’ll show up by then?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom replies, content with the offer as he was before, “I’ll be at-”

 

“Chris?” Sy’s voice calls from behind them.

 

They both turn to look at Sy approaching them, and Tom drops to silence with a grunt.

 

“Tom, I got it,” Chris says, standing up from his chair and looking at Tom intently as he prepares for Sy’s arrival, “I’ll be there, ok?”

 

Tom crosses his arms over his chest, peering at Chris as he remains seated, waiting for his next interview slot to begin - this time, by himself.

 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you later.”

 

Chris searches his face, as if trying to gauge his mood, but Tom, on a whim, only raises a teasing eyebrow at him.

 

“Eight pm then?”

 

Now bashful, Chris snorts in return.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Eight pm it is.”

  
  
  
  


\------------------------

  
  
  


After their first joint interview and throughout the day, their paths hardly cross. 

 

Each of them is led into different studio rooms, and the short glimpses of Tom Chris does manage to get only occur in between the interviews and their mostly mismatching lunch breaks.

 

As the day moves on, at times, when his thoughts travel too far and his concentration blurs,  Chris asks the reporters to repeat their questions before he attempts to reply.

 

_ Tonight… tonight we talk,  _ he thinks, drumming his fingers over his knee as he tries to foresee his and Tom’s conversation in his mind.

 

He knows what he should do. 

 

He remembers Howard’s words quite well.

 

_ Tell him the truth _ .

  
  
  
  


\----------

  
  
  
  
  


Towards the day’s end, when the sun begins to set on the horizon, a white car enters the studio’s parking lot, its driver killing off the engine once it finds a suitable spot. 

 

After a moment, the driver exits the car and closes the door behind him, a man with his hair brown and his shoulders broad.

 

He crosses the road with a hurried trot, and pulls out his ID, showing it to the guard when he reaches the building’s main entrance.

 

The guard flicks his eyes over the offered ID, then at the man’s face, and soon enough, gestures him inside with his thumb. 

 

Unbothered, the man walks into the building with no effort all.

  
  
  
  


\--------------

  
  
  
  


After completing his last interview, Chris thanks the staff and exits the small recording chamber, heading to his dressing room.

 

He changes his clothes briskly, wishing to obtain as much rest as possible before he leaves his own apartment for Tom’s flat.

 

He wears his cap, tightening it over his head, and momentarily looks around for his second handbag, until he remembers he left it in his car.

 

With a small, tired huff, Chris turns to the door and leaves the room, walking down the hall and descending the stairs after waving Sy goodbye.

 

Just before he finds the studio’s main exit, Chris gradually slows down his steps, a strange tug in his stomach calling him to withhold his departure.

 

Drawing his eyebrows together, frowning at the odd, unexplainable inclination, Chris turns his head and looks back at the upper floor, the hall leading to the dressing rooms appearing only semi-lit at this angle.

 

Tom is still up there, residing in his private room, making his own arrangements before leaving to his flat.

 

_ Don’t leave like a stranger _ , a small voice suddenly urges him from within.

_ You barely saw him throughout the day, he doesn’t like it when you quietly escape the scene _ , the voice compels Chris, like a hand nudging his shoulder, turning him around to face the stairs again.

 

_ Go, say some nice goodbye,  _ it offers smoothly, causing Chris to click his tongue as he yields.

 

“Yeah, ok,” he murmurs, allowing his legs to carry him back in the same direction he just came from.

 

He ascends the stairs, two steps at a time as he considers what he might say, a slight tingle tickling his stomach.

 

“Just a quick goodbye.”

  
  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  
  


Chris climbs the last step, reordering his breath as he comes to stand in the middle of the dressing rooms hall junction.

 

He hesitates for a moment, looking to his right then to his left while he recalls the room he saw Tom entering this morning, and just when he turns to go down the left hall - Chris feels a mild shove to his shoulder. 

 

When he turns to look, Chris sees that another man just bumped into him from behind.

 

“Hey buddy, watch your step,” the man says, and after flashing a quick smile at Chris, he continues to walk down the left hall. 

 

As the man walks on, Chris remains motionless behind, his eyebrows creasing in thought. 

 

He only just caught a short glimpse of the man’s face, but it was enough.

 

This is… This is the man who was speaking to Tom during the conference yesterday, the same supposed friend who might have taken Tom out to some nameless, tacky place around town. 

 

Chris narrows his eyes, staring at the man’s receding back as he advances down the left hall, the same hall leading to Tom’s room.

 

_ Where are you doing here, hot shot? _

 

He and Tom are meeting tonight, Chris will certainly be able to ask him about this face to face, and yet, this… this odd coincidence, there’s just something about it that stirs Chris’s most basic instincts.

 

_ A friend of mine _ , Tom had told him last night, but the way this man is walking, how he carries himself - bearing this intent to his movements, as if… as if he’s looking for something.

 

As if he is after someone.

 

Chris blinks, his senses sharpening as a burn starts in his stomach and his blood warms, flowing faster through his limbs.

 

Quietly, unable to remain still behind as this stranger walks closer to Tom’s room, Chris begins walking  - to follow the man’s figure down the hall.

 

He walks slowly, his breath controlled and quiet in an attempt to hear what the man might do, watching him inspecting the room doors’ numbers, until he stops in front of a certain door.

 

Chris continues to walk, his steps measured in order to keep from raising the man’s suspicion, eyes trailing after the man’s moves.

 

Humming to himself, the man raises his arm, then knocks on the door.

 

“Tom? You in there?”

 

With a sharp breath escaping his nose upon hearing Tom’s name, Chris straightens his eyes forward, maintaining his steps regular as he is about to walk past the man.

 

“It’s me, Alan.”

 

_ Alan.  _

 

A faint reply comes from behind the door, Chris can’t quite place it as he advances forward, but indeed - he hears the creak of a door as it opens.

 

“What are you doing here?” comes Tom’s voice from behind the room’s door.

 

His question is followed by the muffled sound of footsteps shuffling on the floor, and then - silence. 

 

Halting his steps, Chris turns around.

 

The hall is empty, with no one of the staff members in sight.

 

Carefully, his heart beating steadily in his chest, Chris advances towards Tom’s room door.

 

When he comes near enough, Chris examines the door, blinking when he notices that it was left slightly ajar. 

 

Noiselessly, Chris leans his back on the wall adjacent to the room’s door.

 

With his mind cleared of thoughts, undividedly attentive, Chris cants his head backwards, the back of his head touching the wall’s cool concrete, his eyes narrowing at the ceiling. 

 

And he listens.

  
  
  
  
  


\----------------------

  
  
  
  
  


Once his duties are fulfilled and the today’s last interview is completed, Tom heads for his dressing room.

 

Inside his chambers, Tom unbuttons his elegant shirt, pulls it off his arms and places it on the hanger hooked over the door’s handle.

 

After his trousers follow suit, Tom searches for his personal clothes inside his backpack - a plain t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

 

He dresses slowly, thoughtful as he pulls his shirt over his torso.

 

Tonight, in less than three hours time, Chris will come and visit him in his apartment, and once again - they shall spend some private time together, alone.

 

The thought sends a thick thrill through his stomach, and Tom huffs with a tight smile under his breath.

 

Despite everything that’s happened, Tom misses him still.

 

This morning’s phone call left him tense, filled with doubts, and how can this be - he is still torn about his decision about the series’ role, endlessly searching for a possible solution, and being close to Chris, kissing him, holding him - will clear his head and soothe some of the uncertainty -

 

A sudden, short knock on the door trenches Tom’s thoughts.

 

“Tom, you in there?”

 

Tom’s head snaps up at the voice, his eyes growing large as he turns to stare at the door.

 

Alan? What is he doing here? 

 

“It’s me, Alan.”

 

Perplexed and somewhat cautious, Tom quickly finishes lacing up his sneakers then stands up from his chair. 

 

Alan’s unexpected arrival is about to taste personal, Tom knows it right away, and he immediately decides to carry out the conversation with Alan inside the privacy of his dressing room.

 

“A moment,” he rumbles, fastening his jeans properly around his waist, and walks to the door.

 

Tom pulls the door open, a pang of heat slithering up his spine at the sight of Alan.

 

Their so called yesterday’s date was concluded with some rather uncommitting tones.

 

Tom was climbing up the stairs to his apartment shortly after he had put a stop to their… intimacy, not giving Alan any reason for his turndown other than general disinterest.

 

_ What did he come here for? _ Tom thinks, _ And how did he know how to find my room?  _

 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, gesturing Alan to usher himself into the room, “come in.”

 

“Huh, this is nice,” Alan says, observing the room and closing the door behind him, “They fixed you up with the nicest chamber around here.”

 

“Yeah,” Tom replies, suddenly sensing unsure about where should he position himself in his own dressing room, “They were generous with me today.”

 

Alan looks at Tom, taking his figure, and tilts his chin at him.

 

“You look good,” he says with a smile, “quite dashing.”

 

Tom chuckles mildly at this, casting his gaze at the floor as he considers his reply.

 

“Thank you,” he says, breathing deeply, “you too.”

 

“Hmm,” Alan says with a thoughtful nod, leaning over a nearby desk.

 

“So,” he continues, his eyes once again coming to rest on Tom, “You wanted to know what am I doing here.”

 

Tom straightens, leaning his waist on the wall. 

 

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

 

He has his own guess as for why exactly Alan bothered himself all the way over here to the studios, and yet, Tom wants to hear the man’s reasons for coming here being expressed explicitly, coming out Alan’s own mouth.

 

“Well, it’s quite simple really,” Alan starts, looking intently at Tom, “I came here to ask you - What happened last night?” 

 

Tom inhales deeply, pursing his lips. 

 

Yeah, that’s what he thought.

 

When Alan senses Tom’s hesitation, he cocks his head at him.

 

“We had some good time together, everything was great - Tom, what happened?”

 

Tom runs his hand through his hair, then massages the back of his neck with a low sigh.

 

_ What should I say? _ He thinks incredulously - that his body shuddered in protest while they kissed? That their ‘date’ was more of an attempt to show both himself and Chris that Tom, in fact, waits in the corner for bloody no one in this life?

 

Alan straightens up from the desk, peering at Tom as he waits for an answer.

 

“I mean, you looked lighthearted throughout the night, you talked, you smiled, when did that change?”

 

Tom draws in some air, gathering his thoughts.

 

“Alan, this,-” he tries, feeling somewhat exasperated, he has enough on his mind at the moment, “this is simply not the right time.”

 

Alan raises a skeptical eyebrow at this.

 

“Not the right time?” he says, his forehead creased in doubt, “so why did you agree to go out with me? You knew my intentions when I asked you to join me, hell -  you asked to leave that club so we could be alone - I just don’t get it.”

 

When he hears about his intentions from last night being misinterpreted, Tom blinks at him, folding his arms over his chest.

 

In a quick response, Alan seems to identify Tom’s defensive stance, and he suddenly straightens up from the desk, raising his hands in defeat.

 

“Ok… Alright. Tom. I did not come here to argue, I understand that something went wrong - I just wanted to know what it was,” he says, taking a step closer to Tom, presenting him with an apologetic smile.

 

“But you know what? More than that, what I really want is to give it another try.”

 

“I want to take you out on a more serious date,” he says with a chuckle, “go through the whole deal, take you to a restaurant, I want to pay for your dinner, and… well, spend the rest of the night with you, take it where we want to,” he finishes with a small smile, now standing close enough to Tom in order to reach out and touch Tom’s shoulder.

 

“That kiss was wonderful, I want to do it again, and, you know, do more if we’re both up for it.”

 

At the suggestive tone and gentle touch, Tom senses heat rising in his cheeks, and he shuffles on his feet, opening his mouth to speak-

 

“Hold on, wait, Tom - let’s have this conversation somewhere else,” Alan stops him. 

 

“I have my car here, just outside, in the building’s parking lot,” he reveals, rubbing Tom’s shoulder with his thumb, “let me take you home, we can talk there,-”

 

A sudden, unexpected low thump on the wall cuts through Alan’s words, drawing his and Tom’s attention to the general direction of the noise.

 

A short silence follows to the stunted thud, a pause which is soon broken by the muffled sound of hurried, retreating foot steps.

 

“What was that?” Alan mutters, but Tom is already leaning away from the wall and heading to the room’s entrance, instantly suspicious. 

 

_ Footsteps? _

 

He is about to push the door open and examine the hall, when he halts right in front of it, his eyes narrowing at what he sees.

 

The door is... slightly ajar. 

 

And it probably remained so, Tom concludes at once, throughout his and Alan’s entire conversation.

 

Suddenly aware of his heart beat, Tom gets hold of the small handle, opens the door, and steps out into the hallway.

 

The immediate proximity of the room is empty, and so is the hallway itself, except from one man who is walking towards the stairs, his footsteps brisk and hasty-

 

His backpack slung over his broad shoulders, -

 

Tom parts his lips in a sharp breath.

 

Chris.

 

He glances at the wall the previous thump’s noise originated from, his mind whirling around itself.

 

The hall is entirely free of other people, Chris might have stood right outside of the room while the door was slightly open, he might have heard what was being said and...and-

 

“No… No, no-” Tom whispers under his breath, sensing cool chills hurling up his neck.

 

“Tom?” Alan calls softly, still standing inside the room, “Is everything ok? Do you see anything? What was that noise?” 

 

With his chest rising and falling unevenly, Tom turns to look at Alan, urgency pooling in his stomach.

 

_ I know him, I know what he’s thinking _ , he almost blurts out fervently,  _ I have to go to him- _

 

“I have to go,” Tom exclaims instead, “don’t come after me,” he adds hastily, already walking swiftly towards the hallway staircase, descending the stairs two by two.

 

When he reaches the main lobby, Chris is nowhere to be seen, and after a quick thought, Tom hurries through the building’s exit, heading to the parking lot, Chris always shows up with his car-

 

A hacked breath leaves Tom’s lips when he spots him, Chris’s strides still brisk and his backpack hung stiffly over his back as he heads to his car.

 

“Chris!” Tom calls out on an impulse, quickening his footsteps.

 

He sees Chris's body visibly tensing upon hearing his voice, his shoulders rigidly drawing up together, but Chris does not halt his movement, nor does he respond to Tom's call.

 

“Oh, you stupid little -,” Tom mutters between his teeth, and after a quick inspection to make sure they are rather alone in the small parking lot, he adopts a light trot until he catches up with Chris.

 

“Chris, hold on a moment,” he says between his breaths, “wait-,”

 

“I’m going home Tom” Chris cuts him with a shake of his head, crisp and flat, not slowing down his steps as they approach his car.

 

“Come on Chris,-” Tom grunts, “can’t you just,-” he mutters, and with his mind set, Tom rushes ahead of Chris and turns around to face him, gripping both of his shoulders.

 

“Wait a moment, wait,” Tom breathes, leaning forward, forcing Chris to stop.

 

“I should go,” Chris mutters, not meeting Tom’s eyes, his own breath rugged and uneven by itself, “Right now. Trust me -  I better not stay.”

 

“No, Chris, you should not,” Tom insists, “you’re wrong, whatever it is you’re thinking - it’s wrong-”

 

“You told me he was your friend,” Chris tosses, raising his arms to detach Tom’s hands from his shoulders, his voice low and thick, “a friend of yours, Tom, that’s what you said.”

 

Tom breathes deeply, shaking his head and looking into Chris’s eyes, resisting Chris’s attempt to stir him away.

 

“You spent half the night alone with this man, and now he shows up in your dressing room and asks you out for dinner-,” Chris says through his teeth, licking his lips and taking a step closer to Tom. 

 

“I’m supposed to come over to your apartment in less than three hours so we could- could talk, and this guy has the balls to jump ahead and offer to take you home in his damn car?”

Chris pauses and swallows, his hand coming to hold Tom’s wrist, fingers pressing over Tom’s pulse.

 

“Are you dating him? You two together?” 

 

Tom licks his lips, silently deciding to accept Chris’s physical challenge, and shakes his head again.

 

“No - I’m not,” he says softly, trying to pacify Chris, “he’s nothing Chris, nothing.”

Chris gazes at him, eyes hard, his low-pitched breath tickling Tom’s neck as he searches his eyes.

 

“Why did you do it?” he asks quietly, tugging Tom’s wrist to him.

 

“You said you’ve never been with a man before, why did you go with him?”

 

Tom brings his free hand to Chris’s shoulder, touching him lightly, absently noting how close they are standing to each other.

 

“Let’s talk about this in my apartment, ok?-” Tom starts, but the words die on his lips when he recognizes a familiar figure coming out of the building, advancing in their direction.

 

“Hey, Tom, what’s going on?”

 

At the sound of his voice, Chris releases Tom’s wrist and turns around, any previous expression he wore dropping from his face.

 

Mildly alarmed, Tom steps ahead.

 

“Everything is fine, Alan,” he looks at him pointedly, “I told you there was no need for you to come after me.”

 

“I think there is a need, actually,” Alan says, tilting his chin at Chris as he walks closer, “your friend here eavesdropped our conversation, and I saw all too well how he just gripped your arm while you were supposedly peacefully talking to each other.” 

 

Now both facing each other, Alan looks at Chris from head to toe.

 

“Yeah, I think I understand things better now.”

 

From behind Tom, Chris walks forward as well, coming to stand next to him.

 

“I’m glad you do, pal, now take a hike, mind your own damn business,” he rumbles in an implicit threat, causing Tom to click his tongue.

 

“Chris, let me handle this-”

 

“Mind my own business?” Alan throws at Chris, preceding Tom, “What, like you just did when you stood outside his room and listened to a private conversation then ran away like a dirty thief?” 

 

Cocking his head, Alan raises a taunting eyebrow at Chris. 

 

“What happened, didn’t like what you heard - pal?”

 

Beside him, Chris stiffens, and following his instinct, Tom grabs Chris’s forearm, but Chris pulls his arm free at once.

 

“Just who do you think you are buddy?” Chris snarls, “You think you’re his bloody boyfriend?”

 

Alan chuckles back, the tease obvious in his laughter.

 

“I might as well be,” he leers at him, “Why, does that bother you, big guy? Are you jealous? Did you ask him out yesterday on that frozen, lame balcony and he said no? Is that it?” 

 

Tom blinks at the remark, last night’s memory of Alan waiting for him outside of the small terrace flashing in his mind’s eye.

 

From there on, everything happens very, very fast.

 

“What?” Chris snaps in return, causing Tom to wince and swear under his breath at the unfolding scene, “What did you say?” 

 

“Yeah, I saw you two talking yesterday,” Alan says, pointing his chin at Tom, “I saw you walking out of that terrace and leaving him alone out there.”

 

With a low grunt, Chris suddenly steps ahead to stand right in front of Alan, and Tom follows him at once, his senses fully alerted and his heart beating in his ears.

 

“Chris, relax,” he hisses, clutching Chris’s arm again, but Chris dispenses Tom’s grip immediately, drawing Tom back to stand close to his side.

 

“You sure do talk a lot, and you should walk away right now, my friend,” Chris insinuates, harsh and low, leaning to meet Alan’s face.

 

“Walk away.”

 

A moment passes in silence as Alan breathes, his chest swelling as a response to Chris’s proximity, and Tom decides to take his chance.

 

“Let it go Alan, this has nothing to do with you, alright?” Tom says slow yet decisive, Chris’s breath hot on his neck, “This is a private business, leave it and go.”

 

His attention torn from Chris, Alan looks at Tom doubtfully, wiping his wrist over his mouth.

 

“You agree to let him treat you like this? Listen to your private conversations and punch your room’s wall when he ain’t happy?”

 

Tom swallows down his throat, his resolve moved by the unsettling comment,-

 

“Would you like to take it somewhere else and discuss other things that I do?” Chris throws behind him, advancing dangerously closer, but Tom grabs his shoulder, asking him to relax again.

 

“Just get out of here, please” Tom pleads, speaking as patiently as possible, his own blood warming in his veins.

 

Alan stares intently at Tom, his mouth slightly open as he breathes, but slowly, his eyes shift to Chris.

 

“Tom here might be ok with this,” Alan says quietly, addressing Chris, “but I’m not,” and Tom’s breath catches in his throat, not releasing his hold on Chris’s shoulder.

 

“Damnit, Alan-”

 

“He does not belong to you, Chris,” Alan overlooks him, ”nor is he your second hand sidekick when your wife can’t keep you happy anymore.” 

 

The words are followed by chilling silence, until from Chris comes a tight, breathless laugh.

 

“Oh, you’re a piece of work, you,” he mutters icily, a low rumble that sends shivers through Tom’s spine.

 

With no further comment, Chris shakes off Tom’s arm, drops his backpack to the pavement - and lunges forward for Alan, who awaits him.

 

The two men clash, reaching to fist each other’s shirt collars, and Tom, with his heart in his throat - charges at both of them.

 

“I asked him out and he said yes, you get that pretty boy?” Alan growls, spitting his words into Chris’s face, eliciting a moan from Tom’s mouth.

 

“Chris!,” he gasps, gripping Chris’s fists, fastened to Alan’s shirt, leaning his weight against Chris in order to draw him backwards, but the two men ignore him, their heat thrown at each other.

 

”He spent the night with me,” Alan splatters between his quick breaths, his fist locked over Chris’s shoulder, keeping him close as he stares into Chris’s eyes, “with me.”

 

A strangled groan is heard from Chris, and Tom calls his name again as Chris weighs forward even further, dragging the three of them with him.

 

Grunting, Tom tries to pry off Chris’s fingers from Alan’s shirt collar - but his fists are clamped like iron over the man’s shirt cloth.

 

“Stay,- out of this Tom,” Chris croaks, but Tom shakes his head with another hacked moan.

 

“For god’s sake Chris, let go of him!” Tom keens, and upon sensing useless, he releases Chris’s fists and reaches for his shoulders, placing his hands right next to Alan’s.

 

“Look at me Chris,” he pants, feeling for the back of Chris’s neck and pressing his fingers into his nape, “Chris, he’s nothing-” 

 

“He’s nothing,” Tom repeats, “Come on, it’s me, Tom, talk to me.”

 

Chris blinks at the words, his fists momentarily wavering, and Tom does not hesitate. 

 

Using all of his weight and strength, Tom charges into Chris and Alan’s lessened embrace, breaking their contact.

 

Tom lunges at Chris, grips both of his shoulders and pushes him backwards, his heart riding within his chest and his body shivering.

 

“Chris,” he breathes, clutching Chris’s forearms and bracing them another step away from Alan, “Chris, calm down, please-”

 

“Is it true,” Chris pants, his gaze still set on Alan who is standing behind them, his hands clamped into fists at his side, “You spent the night with him?”

 

Tom swallows down his throat, his heart twisting at the words.

 

“We only strolled down the city,” he says, his fingers pressing into Chris’s arms, ”it was nothing serious, it’s not- it’s not what it sounds like-”

 

Chris turns his gaze to Tom, his face flushed with heat and his mouth open into a small slit as he is still catching his breath.

 

“He touched you, didn’t he.”

 

Tom shakes his head, looking around them as he struggles for the right words.

 

He cannot lie, his heart won’t let him, but the look on Chris’s face, and the impending rage between him and Alan that just took place….The truth suddenly frightens him. 

 

“It was utterly meaningless Chris,” he tries, bringing his hand to rest on Chris’s chest, “forget him.”  

 

Eyes thunderous and body still buzzing with excess energy, Chris looks at him, his stare heavy and penetrating - until he releases a deep, low sigh.

 

Wordlessly, Chris removes Tom’s hand from his chest.

 

“I should go,” he says tersely, “If you don’t want me to break this clown’s jaws, then I better go and calm down somewhere else where I can’t see him,” then pries Tom’s other hand from his arm, but Tom only tightens his grip, leaning closer to Chris.

 

“Chris-” he starts, trying to catch Chris’s eyes, but Chris purses his lips together, lowering his gaze to the ground.

 

“A woman you hang out with I can swallow, Tom,” he says, his voice stiff and gruff, “a woman I can live with, but a man-”

 

Chris turns away from him with a grunt, wiping his palm over his face, and Tom blinks at Chris’s estrangement, a sharp chill running through him as he watches Chris hefting his bag over his back.

 

_ No...no _ , his heart splits within his chest,  _ don’t let him leave like this- _

 

Chris walks quietly to his car, his hand fishing for his car keys through his back pocket, and Tom covers his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, the battle inside him forcing him to react. 

 

“Chris, wait-,” he begins but falters, terrified at what his heart suggests he should do.

 

With a few quick steps, Tom rushes to position himself in front of Chris.

 

“What-,” Chris says, his expression disoriented as Tom blocks his way to his car, his hands inching up Chris’s chest.

 

“What are you doing,” Chris mutters, attempting to remove Tom’s arms, but Tom insists on and draws himself to Chris, his arms wrapping around Chris’s neck.

 

With a tight gasp, Chris halts, unprepared for Tom’s proximity.

 

“We are not alone,” Chris breathes, shuffling on his legs, but Tom leans closer, placing his cheek against Chris’s.

 

“Yes we are,” Tom says, dragging his nose over Chris’s cheek, slight tremors gripping his fingers as they brush Chris’s nape.

 

_ Tell him _ , that treacherous whisper within him insinuates,  _ tell him. _

 

“I told you,” Tom tells him softly, swallowing hard down his throat as Chris’s body is oozing with heat, feverish under his arms, “He means nothing to me.”

 

_ Let him watch _ , Tom thinks, fully aware that Alan is still standing a few steps near by, observing them. 

 

_ Of all of the people, let him be the first one to see. _

 

“Tom,” Chris implores, but Tom presses his lips to Chris’s jaw, sensing his long lasting resolve finally crumbling, yielding to his heart’s wish with a quiet sigh.

 

“I love you,” Tom whispers below Chris’s ear, the words making him shiver, “You, Chris, not him.”

 

Chris’s body turns rigid under Tom’s arms, a sharp breath spilling from his mouth, and Tom tightens their embrace, hovering his lips next to Chris’s.

 

“I love you,” he tells Chris once more, running his thumb over Chris’s cheek, then kisses him.

 

Their kiss is delicate, a gentle press of lips which Tom allows himself to deepen only for a moment, tenderly tasting Chris’s mouth, until he leans backwards, to look at Chris’s eyes.

 

Chris is silent but for his breathing, his eyes cloudy and unfocused as he gazes back at Tom.

 

“Now, you say this now,” he mumbles, “After all of this-,” 

 

Chris places his palms over Tom’s waist, and with a strained sigh, he dips his head to Tom’s neck, drawing Tom’s hips to his.

 

“Oh,” Tom murmurs, closing his eyes as Chris’s warmth takes him.

 

“I’m so confused, Tom,” Chris says quietly against the skin of his neck, his hands holding tightly, just above Tom’s hips, “I don’t understand,-”

 

Biting his lower lip, Tom cards his fingers through Chris’s hair, his gaze fixed at the empty parking lot beyond Chris’s shoulder.

 

_ Say you love me _ , he thinks feverently, pressing fingers over Chris’s scalp.

 

“I don’t know what to think,” Chris whispers, moving his arm to Tom’s lower back, running his hand over Tom’s spine.

 

He embraces Tom closer, his chest gradually loosening as their closeness ensues.

 

Moments drift by until the sun’s last beams vanish from the sky, the last bits of the struggle’s heat soaking away from Chris’s body. 

 

Tom is quietly pressed close to him, his chin resting on Chris’s shoulder.

 

The night slowly falls, and Chris says nothing more.

  
  
  
  
  


\------------

  
  
  
  
  


With his hands buried deep in his pockets, Tom watches Chris’s car pulling out of the parking lot, the last light of the day gone, replaced by the night’s clambering twilight.

 

When Chris’s car is no longer visible, now hidden behind the city’s buildings, Tom lowers his gaze to the ground, uncaring for the evening’s cool breeze hitting his face.

 

“So,” A voice behind him starts and Tom furrows his eyebrows, recalling the man’s presence behind him.

 

“He is the reason, isn’t he,” Alan says, his voice clear and sharp, and evident for the fact that  Alan is standing much closer to Tom than he thought.

 

“Why you are supposedly not interested.”

 

Tom breathes deeply, looks at the direction Chris’s car drove off to once again, then turns around to face the man.

 

He sees Alan leaning his shoulder over one of the street light poles, his arm draped over his chest as it holds a smoking cigarette, and meets his gaze.

 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, listening carefully to the wind’s hoarse whistle, “he is.”

 

Alan presses his lips into a flat little smile, nodding his head as he taps his cigarette.

 

“That scurvy dog,” Alan mutters loud enough for Tom to hear, then-

 

“Do you know what story this little tale could make if I published it?” 

 

Surprisingly unperturbed by the statement, Tom cocks his head at him.

 

“Would you?”

 

Alan smiles at the question, the color of his skin appearing grey under the street’s lantern.

 

“No,” he says, smoke crawling out of his mouth after puffing his cigarette, “I don’t tend to ruin people’s lives.”

 

_ How noble,  _ his mind grits, but Tom keeps his mouth in check.

 

“Can’t say the same about your awfully considerate, bulky friend here, though,” Alan insists on telling, causing Tom to flex his fist inside his jeans’ pocket.

 

“You’re being deliberately blind here, Tom, you are aware of this, aren’t you,” he says, and Tom chuckles dryly, his belly warming dangerously fast. 

 

“I know this type of people. He’ll always keep you high and dry while he does as he pleases,” Alan accuses openly, pointing his cigarette at the direction Chris’s car just drove by.

 

“He’s a selfish, hotheaded prick,” he practically hisses at Tom, “and he’ll give you nothing in return for your-”

 

“Cut it,” Tom pierces him, the mere remnants of his temper gone.

 

“I think we’ve said far more than enough to each other, especially now that this friendly, peaceful evening has come an end.”

 

Disgruntled, Alan stares at him, his face forming a weak scowl.

 

The cool wind touches Tom’s neck, and the familiar itching tingle touches his throat, but Tom manages to swallow his cough down this time.

 

“It’s been a pleasure Alan,” Tom tells him, starting to head towards the building, idly remembering that he left his bag in his dressing room before he chased Chris down the stairs, before that confrontation started, before Alan and Chris almost-

 

“But right now, I feel we should try and get out of each other’s sight.” Tom whimpers, pinching his eyes as his legs carry him tiredly to the building’s entrance.

 

Tom pushes the door open, glimpsing at the now deserted set, then pauses.

 

“And now that I think about, I believe we should keep it that way, actually.” he says, peeking at Alan from behind his shoulder.

 

“We’re done,” Tom tells him flatly. 

 

“And this time - don’t come after me.”

  
  
  
  
  


\------------------------

 

  
  


Chris drives on as far as his wits allow him to.

 

It happens so, that after replaying the day’s most recent events more times than he can remember and missing far too many road turns on his way, that his mind begs for some rest,  and only then Chris finally brings his car to a halt.

 

He kills the engine, rubbing his palm over his face as he leans back over his seat, his head weighing heavy and a constant throbbing ache is pulsing up the base of his neck.

 

The street he’d chosen for his short respite is a silent, subsidiary byway, almost empty of other passerbies, and with his arms yet to suffer through some tremors, Chris crosses them over his chest. 

 

His breath is still shaky, and through the windshield - he looks at the star dotted sky.

 

Chris stretches his stiff neck, clamping and relieving his fists - attempting to reassemble his composure, yet his thoughts refuse to calm.

 

_ One more word _ ,  _ one more word from that prick’s mouth about Tom, about anything at all, and I would have _ -

 

Chris groans, his own voice drumming inside his ears within his empty car.

 

Why would he say so? Why would Tom claim that Alan was his friend when he clearly wasn’t? 

 

Chris untangles his arms from his chest and presses his fist to his mouth, baring his teeth over his own skin in a silent hiss.

 

“Why must it be so c-complicated?” he growls against his fist- his wild grudge pouring out of him, both inflaming and exhausting him at once.

 

It has never been like this with women, never, not even close - Chris has always known what he should do, the behavior of his previous female partners has been mostly predictable, and now-

 

“I understand nothing, I know nothing,” his whimpers under his palm, his throat dry and crowded while his body begs for some rest.

 

The small space of his car’s booth goes immediately quiet as Chris resumes his muffled breathing, and when a pedestrian walks nearby the vehicle, Chris immediately fastens his cap over his head lest he’ll be recognized.

 

Moments pass, and when the lady who crossed his path disappears out of sight, Chris plucks his cap off his head, tossing it off to the seat beside him and glances at his wristwatch.

 

Eight thirty two at night.

 

If nothing had gone wrong, if Chris had not chosen to climb back up those stairs in order to wish Tom a pleasant evening - he would have been standing at Tom’s doorstep thirty minutes ago, waiting to be invited inside. And he would have known nothing of what he knows now.

 

Would Tom have told him about this man if Chris hadn’t discovered it by himself?

 

Would he have still told Chris that he…. That he loves..

 

Restless, Chris ignites the engine and looks around him one last time, strongly sensing that the quiet street is not the right place for him to be while he is arguing with the more slippery parts of his soul.

 

He steers his car back into the main road, hands holding steadily onto the wheel.

 

Right now. He and Tom are presumed to meet. 

 

After Tom had seen Chris in his worst, seen some of his grudge, his tantrum - they are supposed to talk.

 

Tonight, after all Chris had seen, heard, and almost done, they are supposed to speak some truth to each other.

  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  


After entering his apartment, Tom heads quietly into the shower, eager to cleanse himself and change his clothes.  

He leans over the wall to his small balcony afterwards, folding his arms over his chest as he replays the recent events in his mind, then smiles, thinking that tonight smells somewhat like witted irony.

 

He had hoped for a nice evening with that sweet man he cares about all too much, had even hoped for some soothing touches and kisses, had hoped to find some answers for those questions his soul is constantly concerned about - 

 

“But instead, Chris had almost knocked Alan’s head off, and I ended up waiting for him to declare his love for me in the middle of a stinking parking lot,” he murmurs to himself and to the night sky, strongly sensing that right now, the sky is his only partner to share this little joke with.

 

Tom fixes himself a glass of strong liquor afterwards, then he returns to the balcony to watch the city’s view, still thoughtful.

 

It is ten minutes past eight, and Chris said he would show up.

 

They are supposed to meet. 

 

Tom takes a large sip from his glass, closing his eyes as the strong liquid warms his stomach.

 

With no more funny jokes to share with the dark night, Tom is waiting.

 

Waiting until Chris will come.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is love?
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> Warnings, containing spoilers -  
> * A rather heated argument takes place.  
> * A certain usage of physical strength occurs, but no blood is spilled, nobody is harmed.  
> * As usual - the chapter contains intense conversations, thoughts, and actions.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never meant to cause you any sorrow  
> I never meant to cause you any pain  
> I only wanted to one time to see you laughing  
> I only wanted to see you  
> Laughing in the purple rain
> 
> I never wanted to be your weekend lover  
> I only wanted to be some kind of friend  
> Baby, I could never steal you from another  
> It's such a shame our friendship had to end
> 
> You say you want a leader  
> But you can't seem to make up your mind  
> I think you better close it  
> And let me guide you to the purple rain
> 
>  
> 
> [Purple Rain - Prince & The Revolution](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Qghl_LPjIo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> I apologize for the unusual delay for this post - This chapter took some extra effort to complete and I needed a few days after the previous post before I could start writing again.
> 
> Your comments are wonderful - I cannot stress enough how good they make me feel and how amazingly well they push me forward to continue writing and complete the chapters properly.
> 
> Once again - the warnings are placed at the end of this chapter. As usual - I believe most of us will be able to handle everything written below.
> 
> On a personal note -  
> Dear readers, or should I say, by now, dear friends - I know this fiction is not made of fluff, and yet, this piece , in its essence - is a love story, and I shall grant it a good ending. 
> 
> I hope with all of my heart that you shall take pleasure in your reading :)
> 
> My love to you.

The yellow light goes off, and Chris exhales, blinking rapidly at the sudden blackness that  tears the flow of his thoughts.

 

Fatigue is tickling around the edge of his senses, a dull ache throbs through the back of his head, and yet - Chris is here, standing in front of the door to Tom’s apartment, his breath echoing low about the dark stair room. 

 

An invisible presence of deep, never resting doubt is here, right here, lurking beside him,  _ this talk - what good will it do? _ , it whispers, mentally tugging at Chris’s shoulder to turn on his heels and leave.

 

With his blood still thick and warmed from his nearly violent clash with Tom’s male date, Chris frowns at the door’s metallic door knob.

 

Under the hallway’s dimness, he insists.

 

_ I will tell him. _

  
  
  
  


\------------------

  
  
  
  


When the clock strikes nine pm, Tom huffs irritably, swearing under his breath.

 

“Damn him.”

 

The minutes pass, and Tom silently watches the grey city’s buildings dotted with illuminated windows and balconies, rolling his glass of wine between his fingers, having a mind to hurl it at the floor and shutter it to pieces.

 

“Damn him for not coming.”

 

Lips pressed into a thin line, Tom drains the last drops of wine down his throat, then turns briskly to walk to the kitchen.

 

He places the glass into the sink with a loud clank, then washes his hands under the faucet’s cool stream of water, shaking his head as he mutters to himself.

 

“That jealousy of his - is driving him out of his mind, is what it does-” 

Tom clicks his tongue, grabbing a kitchen cloth to wipe his palms dry.

 

“Boiling his blood-” he mutters, but his low rumble ends with a stammer.

 

Coming from the apartment’s door, are sounds of padding footsteps, hovering just at the flat’s doorstep. 

 

Swiftly, Tom turns his head at the direction of the flat’s door, vigilantly listening to quiet shuffling.

 

_ He’s here? _

 

Placing the damp kitchen cloth back on the table, Tom walks warily to the kitchen’s entrance and quietly watches the door, sensing a strange shift in the air around the apartment.

 

A few moments flow by in static silence, and with them, Tom slowly leans his shoulder over the door jamb with a low sigh.

 

He touches the wall with his fist, about to turn back into the kitchen - when a hesitant knock comes from the door.

 

“Oh,” Tom murmurs, momentarily struck dumb as he straightens from the doorjamb, “Right.”

 

His thoughts are blurring into each other as he heads to the door, he doesn't even bother to verify his guest’s identity through the eye hole, and with a leveled breath, Tom pulls the door open, wordlessly looking at the man revealed behind it.

 

“Hello,” Chris grits him, standing rigidly at the doorstep, somewhat awkwardly waiting to be invited inside.

 

He looks hesitant, tired as he locks his gaze with Tom’s - but beautiful. Always beautiful.

 

“Hi,” Tom pipes at him with a curt nod, palm gripping the door’s handle, “Come in.”

 

“Thanks,” Chris mutters, stepping into the apartment while Tom’s eye are following his movements, closing the door behind him.

 

Chris is wearing the very same clothes he wore two hours earlier when Tom last saw him, the skin of his neck just above his shirt’s collar is flushed, and Tom concludes right away that regardless of this two hour time gap since that one step away from wreckful clash with Alan - Chris did not stop at his home before he came here.

 

“So,” Tom starts mildly, “You came.”

 

With a soft in inhale, Chris speaks quietly, both of his hands planted within his jeans’ pockets.

 

“We said we would meet, and so, I came.” 

Considering Chris’s short, rather unplaceable answer for a single moment, Tom eyes his figure.

 

“Indeed,” he says, then looks at the couch, sensing he should somehow break their lumbering stance as they are wordlessly facing each other, situated like two gawky opponents in the middle of a domestic ring.

 

“Would you like to sit down?” Tom asks, gesturing at the nearest sofa.

 

To this, Chris does not respond at first. He measures Tom for a moment, then casts his gaze away, eyeing the hall leading to Tom’s bedroom as he appears to be thoughtful, as if he is uncertain about Tom’s offer.

 

Somewhat confused -  _ Why won’t he sit down? _ \-  Tom raises an eyebrow at him.  

 

“You want us to do this here? While we are standing in the middle of the living room?” he asks, calling Chris’s attention back to him.

 

Chris is still strangely quiet, only giving Tom a long, unreadable look.

 

“Are we alone?” he asks after a moment, then - “Are you expecting someone to come here soon?”

 

Tom pinches his eyebrows together, puzzled.

 

He almost replies right away -   _ of course they are alone _ , but Chris’s true intention behind the question settles quickly into Tom’s mind, and the impulse to answer is halted - concluding Tom’s response with a small, hacked breath.

 

Some of Chris’s thoughts are still there, in that parking lot, still ready for a confrontation with Alan.

 

“He is not here, Chris,” Tom mutters, flexing his fists as he denies the sense of guilt tingling at his fingertips, “nor is he expected to come here, alright?”

 

Chris maintains his silent gaze, and Tom returns it, both of them wordlessly assessing each other, until Chris averts his eyes, clearing his throat.

 

“Ok, alright,” he says, then turns to the nearest couch, gingerly sitting down on the cushions.

 

Quietly, Tom nods in return, then follows Chris’s lead, settling himself on the opposite side of the couch Chris selected for himself. 

 

The city’s night time hustle is present, oozing through the windows, yet the air around the apartment is calm and subtle. 

 

It is almost, Tom thinks as he regards the motionless furniture and semi lit hall, as if the apartment itself is observing them both, waiting to see how their encounter shall unfold.

 

_ She likes him _ , Tom muses, holding back a tight lipped smirk,  _ of all my friends and guests, it is him and only him she finds interesting. _

 

Leaning his elbows on his knees, his palms stippled to each other and his forehead creased in thought, Chris is the first one to talk.

“It was a close call,“ he mutters above his palms rubbing together, eyes set on the floor.

 

“On more word from him about you,” he says carefully, “and I would have knocked him down.”

 

Upon hearing the words, Tom’s fingers reflexively curl around his knee to the memory of Chris’s hot fists ferociously seizing Alan’s shirt, while Tom was trying to loosen Chris’s iron grip from Alan’s shirt collar.

 

“Why did you go out with him?” Chris asks him, his gaze stalling over an undefined spot over the opposite wall.

 

“Were you upset with what happened with you with Tiffany? With what she said to you?” 

 

Relaxing his palm over his knee, Tom turns to look at Chris’s profile, the visible half of him lit by the pale light of the city’s twilight coming from the window.

 

_ Yes _ , Tom thinks, inspecting Chris’s hands as they are restlessly palming each other,  _ that, and much, much more. _

 

“Was it Elsa?” Chris asks stiffly, “Were you angry because you saw me with her?”  

 

At the sound of her name, at the memory of Elsa’s arm entwined with Chris’s, Tom snaps his fingers together.

 

Discussing Chris’s wife, Tiffany and her insulting words, this is not the evening Tom had hoped for.

 

“Yeah, I was upset,” Tom regards him, his index finger digging into his knee, “while you were quite busy with your wife-”

 

“-And he was there, quite available.”

 

Chris’s turns to stare at him, his jaws squaring as his eyes narrow.

 

“Available,” he murmurs quietly.

 

Tom holds Chris’s gaze, a hot tingle rankling his stomach.

 

“You know,” he insinuates, “Tiffany actually did it.”

 

“She said the right words - and she hit home.” 

 

Tom runs his tongue across his teeth, tapping his fist over his thigh as he remembers.

 

“Then, wearing this mask in front of Elsa, pretending that everything is just jolly well good, while you were standing right there, right there infront of me-”

 

He pauses at this, pressing his lips into a thin line against a sudden tightness in his throat.

 

“Yes,” Tom continues, breaking his eye contact with Chris and averting his gaze towards the window, “Alan was available.” 

 

He inhales deeply after the words leave his mouth, watching the visible patches of horizon, noticing that tonight,  just like yesterday, when he spent his evening with another man, almost no stars are dotting the sky.

 

“Elsa knows nothing, doesn’t she,” Tom says quietly, eyebrows pinched together, “you haven’t told her.”

 

At first, no response comes from Chris, amplifying the apartment’s silence in Tom’s ears, until a low sigh is heard from Tom’s side.

 

“No, I haven’t.” 

 

Upon hearing this, Tom’s lips purse slowly together, observing his hand relentlessly palming the sofa’s armrest.

 

“Are you planning to?”

 

Once again, no comment follows Tom’s question. 

 

Light human rumble is carried from the street, but Tom listens carefully to Chris’s measured breaths, anxiously waiting to hear his reply, wondering whether Chris will refuse to answer this.

 

Moments pass, and when Chris eventually responds, that old fear of bitter, painful disappointment is already gnawing at Tom’s bones. 

 

“I’m- l’m thinking about it, yeah,” Chris murmurs quietly. 

 

With a frown slowly pulling at his face, Tom considers this.

 

_ Thinking about it _ , his mind repeats, wrapping Tom’s thoughts around the phrase.

 

There is this hot tickle forming in Tom’s stomach, this acidic, thin thread of sensation which is swimming upwards, circulating his lungs and slithering towards the center of his chest.

 

“Well,” Tom says, unable to hide his dissatisfaction, “I’m glad we cleared that up."

 

"Splendid,  Everything is just splendid, is it not.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Tom notices Chris turning his head to look at him.

 

“Tom,” Chris starts, and Tom tilts his head to meet his stare.

 

“Yeah,” he says at once, meeting Chris’s gaze, eye to eye.

 

Chris’s eyes are glassy, arms held rigidly at his sides.

 

He swallows visibly, his chest slowly heaving with his breaths.

 

“Tom,” Chris mutters, lifting his palm to drag it over his mouth. 

 

Tom watches him, his own breath deepening at Chris’s pensiveness, his mind racing for what he might say.

 

“Homosexuality,” Chris says tightly, “is not-”

 

He pauses, his fists palming each other - 

 

“- is not easy for me.”  

 

The words are said quietly, sensing like a part of a secret loath to be revealed, leaving a trail of stillness to float behind.

 

_ Homosexuality is… Is not easy? _

 

On their own, Tom’s fingers fasten their grip on the sofa’s armrest.

 

“What does that mean?” 

 

Leaning over his knees, Chris looks away, restlessly kneading his palms against each other. 

 

“It means,” he begins, his throat moving thickly, “that I am not- not sure how to handle...this,” he finishes, his hand gesturing timidly between himself and Tom.

 

At this, Tom blinks at him, his thoughts halting.

 

“We are both men,” Chris says warily, “and that scares me, more than I can put into words.”

 

Like heavy led, Chris’s words settle into Tom’s mind, and that warm thread of spikes continues to delve deeper within his chest, channeling its way through, until it finally reaches his heart, hovering around it with its thorns.

 

Tom senses his torso stiffening, as if bracing itself against a possible impact.

 

“What are you saying, really,” Tom says carefully, “Do you want to end this?” 

 

Chris glances at him, shaking his head with a quiet sigh.

 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he says, and Tom furrows his brows together, wanting to know.

 

“What did you mean then?”

 

Chris licks his lips, obviously uncomfortable under Tom’s scruinity.

 

He runs his eyes over the living room, his face pinched in thought before exhaling uneasily.

 

“What I meant is,” he says softly, closing his eyes as if in quiet defeat, “- is that I need some time, Tom. I need some time before I tell her.”

 

Looking at him, Tom parts his lips, releasing the breath he’s been holding.

 

With his fingers now tapping the armrest in slow motion, Tom turns his head to look at the open balcony from his seat.

 

“You need some time,” he murmurs, watching but not seeing the city’s view laid out from the small terrace. 

 

There, within his mind, builds a crisp, pointed inkling that sets to carve through his thoughts.

 

_ He’s not going to say it _ , it insinuates-

 

_ He’s not going to say he loves me.  _

 

With a sense of thickness beginning to crowd his neck, Tom’s palm flexes into a fist.

 

Alarmed, no longer comfortable in his seat - Tom rises from the sofa and walks to the balcony, no more facing Chris as leans his shoulder on the wall, breathing the chilly air gusting through the window.

 

“You need some time, and I suppose you would like me to stay here,” Tom says slowly, “in the United States, and not take that part I told you about.”

 

Tom is giving his back to him, but he can hear the cushions shifting as Chris rises from his seat as well, coming to stand behind Tom.

 

“Tom, I don’t know much about that role yet,” Chris says gently, “but I admit that I don’t want you to leave. I was hoping that you’d choose to stay, yes.”

 

The city is humming with hustle and town fairs, but Tom does not hear much of it, staring impassively at the view of city under the dim twilight.

 

The night is cold, just as most of these nights tend to be recently.

 

“Well,” Tom says, his voice low, “it seems that you’ve got it all figured out, haven't you.”

 

From behind him, a disgruntled sigh is heard.

 

“Tom, that is not what I am trying to say,” Chris tells him, “I am telling you this because this is the truth, ok?” 

 

“This - this had to be said,” he pleads, and Tom huffs, chuckling down a tremble running through his teeth.

 

_ He will keep you high and dry _ , Alan told him, no more than two hours ago,  _ and he’ll do as he pleases, -  _ and the words are like a lingering smear, clinging to Tom’s memory.

 

“The truth?” he whispers.

 

They are mocking him, Alan’s words, Tiffany’s too, and Tom has probably never felt so distant from the figure of the strong man he has always perceived himself to be.

 

He inhales deeply, the midnight air cooling his body as he crosses his arms over his chest, mustering his voice.

 

The chain of thorns is tightening, and his heart is about to be prickled.

 

“We spent the night together, Chris,” he says, his heartbeat pulsing under the tips of his arms.

 

“You sucked my dick,” he insinuates, the words sultry on his tongue, “then you buggered me hard enough to make the bed creak, all while calling me sweetheart,-”

 

Tom pauses at this, swallowing down past the growing lump in his throat.

 

“- And the truth is that homosexuality - being with a man - scares you?”

 

Silence stretches after this, until a low hiss from Chris’s mouth reaches Tom’s ears.

 

A moment passes, then, closing the distance between them, Chris comes to stand at his side, but Tom’s stare remains set on the view, watching the city lights slowly decreasing and the night nearing its peak.

 

“This part, this role I’ve been offered in France-” Tom says and chuckles breathlessly, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation.

 

Accepting this role was supposed to be one of the easiest decisions in his life.

 

“This is perhaps the biggest opportunity of my career.”

 

From the corner of his eye, Tom sees Chris, with their shoulders almost touching, also watching the view, his face taut and his jaws sternly set together.

 

“Should I wait for you, Chris?” Tom asks slowly.

 

Chris says nothing, his entire stance rigid, and Tom grinds his teeth, tightly gripping the flesh of his forearm, wanting to shove him up against the wall, to hear Chris panting, to provoke him into anger and answers.

 

“Should I wait for you, here, like a bitch in heat? Holding my breath for those weekends when you’re carefree enough to show up here and talk sweetly while you are fucking me?”

 

Chris bristles at this, a low groan emerging from his throat.

 

“Jesus, Tom,” he hisses, pinching the bridge of his eyes, “Jesus.”

 

“Why do you have to-”, Chris mutters under his breath, and Tom bites his tongue, a sudden sense of fullness stinging in his eyes.

 

“Why- why are you talking like this-” 

 

In a swift motion, Tom wipes his wrist over his face, then immediately refolds his arm over his chest afterwards.

 

“Because that’s exactly how it feels, Chris,” he shoots, ”every time, when I know you are leaving back to your wife after we make our little business happen.”

 

Tom frowns, swallowing thickly, trying to relieve the heaviness in his throat.

 

He abhors this, this constant, restless sense of feeling intimidated by very the person he wants, by Chris himself,- 

 

“You want to know why I dated this guy?” he snaps.

 

“I wanted you to chase me, to search for me,-” he says and swallows once again.

 

“I wanted you to look around and wonder where the hell I went to, so you’d know how it feels to be left behind.”

 

Tom draws his nose in a quick pull, exhaling mildly.

 

Beside him, Chris is still standing near by, close enough so Tom is able to hear his breathing -  deep and forcibly measured.

 

When Tom peeks at him, Chris has his arms firmly crossed over his chest as well, his body sternly motionless in its stance.

 

More moments of silence go by, until Chris clears his throat, the line of his jaws visibly set. 

 

“Why did you say he was a friend of yours?” 

 

Though predictable, the question succeeds to take Tom in a quiet surprise.

 

Why, indeed.

 

He could have told Chris right away that Alan’s intentions had clearly been more than just plain platonic, and yet - Tom had told Chris other wise. 

 

The little lie was a result of a decision made swiftly, almost unconsciously, as if in a quick, defensive reflex against another sentiment -

 

Guilt.

 

Tom had felt guilty for seeing another man.

 

Tiffany had thrown it at Tom’s face, and Tom had ferociously resented the idea ever since, but there, hidden behind the valiant, scorching walls of his ego, lies a part of Tom that wants to wait for Chris, wait until Chris comes to him. 

 

_ To stand by like a wretched fool _ , Tom thinks, Incredulous, and closes his eyes, biting his lip when hot wetness finally wins over, welling up in his eyes.

 

“Because I’m a bloody idiot, that’s why,” he whispers.

 

Tears break through to trail down his cheeks, and Tom swears under his breath.

 

With a low, flustered moan, Tom wipes his arm over his face, soaking the warm wetness into the sleeve of his shirt.

 

Catching his distress, Chris tears his gaze from the view, now alarmed, quickly turning to look at him.

 

“What,-” he says, and Tom tilts his head away immediately, loath to let Chris see him like this.

 

“Tom,” Chris gasps, bewildered, making Tom grunt irritably when he lightly touches Tom’s shoulder and comes to stand right in front of him.

 

“Leave it,” Tom hisses when Chris feels for his chin.

 

“I said leave it,” Tom tries to bat Chris’s arm away, but Chris ignores his attempt, turning Tom’s head to meet his stare, until Tom surrenders with another grunt.

 

Chris’s face are hardly lit in this angle, but Tom is able to make out the creases on his forehead, and the upset, searching look in his eyes. 

 

Resigned, Tom stares at him.

 

_ Let him see this and have his fill. _

 

“This is the second time this happened to me this week,” he drawls, “though I don’t recall crying like this since I was eleven years old, when some older nitwit decided to beat my arse bloody on my way home from school.”

 

Chris’s gaze is somber, his shoulders rising and falling in slow, stoic breaths while he is staring at Tom’s face. 

 

Tom is looking back at him in return, blinking against the icy night breeze that dries his tears to sting over of his skin - when suddenly, a familiar, yet unwelcome tingle prickles his neck.

 

_ No, no,-  _  he thinks right away,  _ not right now- _

 

Muttering a soft curse, he should have known this would happen to him - Tom covers his  mouth with his palm.

 

He tries to clear his throat into his fist and stifle the constricting sensation down, but like a slippery slope, the tingle rapidly turns into a slight burn, cramping his breath-

 

The cough splits out of him, jagged and hoarse, its echo awkwardly emphasized as it bounces back from the empty apartment’s wall.

 

The grasp on his shoulder intensifies, and his cough grips him once, twice more until it subdues, leaving Tom to catch his breath with his palm still guarding his lips.

 

“What is this cough Tom,” Chris grinds at him, causing Tom to blink his eyes open.

 

Chris’s eyes are narrowed in worry, a deep frown carving his face, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“What is it,” he demands, reaching his hand to hold the back of Tom’s neck, “Are you sick?”

 

Still rearranging his breath back to normal, Tom hesitates, but Chris insists further.

 

“Why are you having this cough,” he urges Tom, practically angry at him, “Tell me.”

 

Tom shakes his head, clicking his tongue in reluctance, and the grip on his neck tightens.

 

“Tell me why Tom,” Chris tells him.

 

For a moment, Tom defies him with a wordless gaze, to which Chris hardly responds.

 

“I won’t leave it until you do,” he informs Tom, and Tom yields shortly afterwards, letting out  a hacked, tired sigh.

 

“It started shortly after we first slept with each other,” he says, avoiding Chris’s stare by looking at the darkened view beyond his shoulder.

 

He remembers it quite clearly, his body claiming a new toll in a form of cough right after he was intimate with Tiffany for the first time.

 

Chris furrows his eyebrows together, frowning.

 

“What does that mean Tom, I don’t understand”, he stresses. 

 

Tom swallows down, his throat sensing raw, and wipes away new moisture from his eyes, staring at his sticky, dampened palm afterwards with renewed ire.

 

“It means,” he starts, “that I am constantly troubled about this… this thing between us.”

 

“Always confused, never confident,” Tom seethes, his breath laboured.

 

“It weakens me,” he breathes quietly, hot tears springing free once again, wetting his face, “It means that I’m weak.”

 

Tom opens his eyes and meets Chris’s haunted stare, and groans in frustration.

 

_ Why won’t he say it? Why won’t he say he loves me? _

 

“I don’t know why I am even doing this with you, sleeping with you,” he moans, rubbing the base of his palms into his eyes.

 

“Weeping while you are seeing at me like this,- who- who would have thought-” Tom whimpers, and pauses, his voice too shaky to continue.  

 

Around the small balcony, the air falls into silence when Tom ceases speaking.

 

After a while, Tom feels hands moving gently over his ribs down to his waist, and his body stiffens at once.

 

“No, I’m fine” Tom refuses, trying to fend off Chris’s attempts, but Chris stands firm, drawing him into a close embrace.

 

His body remains firm at first, his arms slightly shivering under Chris’s hold, but slowly, Chris’s proximity warms him, and with a soft sigh, Tom relaxes into his touch.

 

Chris rubs his cheek against Tom’s, and Tom eventually agrees to place his chin on Chris’s shoulder, gradually calming his breath.

 

Tom opens his eyes into small slits, sniffing inelegantly through his stuffy nose, and breathes the cool night’s air.

 

“You are my first, Tom, do you realize this?” Chris murmurs close to his ear, his palm carressing Tom’s back.

 

Upon hearing this, Tom blinks. 

 

“I’ve never been with a man before, not like this,” he says, “and I’m making all the possible mistakes with you.”

 

He feels Chris’s neck moving as he swallows, his palm’s motions becoming somewhat rigid over his back.

 

“These tendencies horrified me when I was a boy,” he mutters softly, “and I refused to- to accept them, so- I tried to fight them off, and I’ve denied them for years,” he finishes with batted breath.

 

A flow of brisk wind enters the terrace, cooling the remaining tears on Tom’s face, sending him to wipe his cheeks over Chris’s clothed shoulder. 

 

“And then,” Chris begins, and Tom keeps his eyes open, listening to Chris’s rare words,  “-then, long years later, you suddenly come in, and you…well, aside from not being a woman, you are very different from what I know.”

 

Chris removes his arms from Tom’s back, and comes to hold Tom’s forearms instead, dragging his nose across Tom’s hair line.

 

“You’re in there,” Chris mutters against his skin, “inside my head, I think about you, I miss you, I would snap that sleazy bastard’s arms if I even suspect he’s trying to lay his hands on you again.” 

 

Chris draws slightly backwards, standing almost close enough for their cheeks to touch.

 

“I’m not like you, ok?” he whispers, fastening his grip on Tom’s arms.

 

“It’s… it’s difficult for me,” Chris says mildly, his breath a little rough next to Tom’s ear,

“to simply act on this, to discuss this issue so openly-,” 

 

“It’s like-,” he breathes and pauses, then lowers his head, his nose tickling Tom’s neck.

 

“The notion of wanting you, of following some instinct I believed was gone- it paralyzes me.”

 

With Chris’s hands still seizing his arms, Tom frowns against Chris’s soft shirt material.

 

_ Paralyzes _ , he muses, the word looping across his mind.

 

He lifts his chin from Chris’s shoulder and straightens, licking the tender, salty taste of tears from his lips.

 

They are both tall men, with Chris’s girth added to their shaky balance, and yet - their bodies fit nicely, very warmly together.

 

Lifting his arm, Tom runs his palm up Chris’s abdomen, sliding it over his chest, until the tips of his fingers brush the line of Chris’s jaw.

 

Chris is quiet, sternly quiet, and Tom leans forward, pressing his mouth to Chris’s.

 

Chris is stagnant under his touch, resisting him, but Tom cups the back of his neck, tugging him closer as he pries his lips open, leaving Chris with no other choice but to meet his kiss.

 

Tom slides his tongue through Chris’s lips, insistent, until Chris palliates under him, his grip relaxing, and he opens his mouth, gingerly kissing Tom back.

 

Resolved, Tom uses the opportunity, and draws Chris flush against him, deepening their kiss with a low moan.

 

Lowering his hands to Tom’s waist, Chris gasps into Tom’s mouth.

 

“You ruin me,” he flutters. 

 

Tom kisses him, tasting Chris’s mouth and scenting his body, grunting when Chris hovers his palms over his rear, bringing their hips close.

 

“I would take you here, right here,” Chris murmurs into his temple, “it doesn’t matter,-”

 

Tom demands another kiss then, hungry and needing, until he breaks it apart, and rests his forehead against Chris’s brow.

 

With his throat still crowded, he grips Chris’s shoulder, his lips hovering over Chris’s jaw.

 

“I can’t throw away my career because you are afraid, damnit.” 

 

_ I want you to do it, I want you to tell her,  _ Tom thinks furiously, knocking his fist over Chris’s chest once, then twice.

 

“You coward,” he hisses through his teeth, “you stupid coward.”

 

Chris stiffens almost immediately under his touch, gradually pulling back from their embrace until he regards Tom, his hair disarrayed with the the sporadic blow of the wind.

 

The last spots of heat are slowly fading away from his face, and his eyes are distant - and cold.

 

Tom looks back at him, his last words tracing a some air of aloofness between them.

 

“That-,” Chris starts quietly, averting his eyes away and returning his arms to his side.

 

“That - I am.”

  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  
  


Tom lets the cool water gather in his palms, the splashes them over his face, washing away the remaining clammy evidence from his skin.

 

He exhales tiredly when he examines his features in the mirror, seeing that his eyes are puffy, rimmed with red, knowing that there’s a fair chance that those unmistakable clues may remain visible for long hours to come.

 

Resigned, Tom dries his face with the small towel, then exists the bathroom and heads back to the living room.

 

There, standing in the same spot he stood when he just entered the apartment - is Chris. 

 

Tom takes his figure, noticing that Chris face, too, appears to be somewhat paler than usual.

 

The man had said nearly nothing since they parted their embrace in the small terrace.

 

Tom leans his shoulder over the nearest wall, folding his arms over his chest.

 

With an uneven breath, Chris clears his throat.

 

“I would have never, ever... used you,” he says quietly, his face pulled into a deep frown.

 

“Had I been looking for some mindless sex, then trust me Tom, you would have probably been my last choice for a partner.”

 

Smirking, Tom huffs a dry chuckle at this. 

 

“And about this part,” Chris continues, considering his next words, “I’ve come to learn about this issue only two days ago, and I did not know it was so important to you prior to tonight.” 

 

“If I had known this means so much to you before, I might have spoken, or rather acted -  differently about it, I am not sure,” he says, grinding his jaws thoughtfully.

 

“And yet,” he adds, hesitating before saying more, “I can’t deny that I prefer that you will not leave and stay here.”

 

Tom considers this. What Chris is saying is true by fact, and yet, Tom raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“Stay here, and dutifully wait for you, lest you break someone’s bones.”

 

Chris closes his eyes and shakes his head, bowing his head down with a faint sigh.

 

“I understand you Tom, alright? This is a good opportunity for you. If you stay here, you miss your chance,” he says softly, “and far be it from me to try and take it out of your hands,” he says softly.

 

“And I get it. I know- I know that I am jealous about you,” he murmurs.

 

“You- you manage to stir some sensitive spots.”

 

He is not sure how, but this - this short confession that finally proves that Chris has been selfish - somehow it manages to pin Tom down with sadness and a strange, distant sense of doubt.

 

Lifting his gaze from the floor, Chris inhales unevenly, placing his hands deep inside in his pockets.

 

“I am… quite alone, in this thing, -” he mutters, “You know?”

 

At this unexpected, raw statement, Tom furrows his brows, his mouth pressed firmly shut.

 

“We argue,” Chris tells him, his eyes troubled and not meeting Tom’s, “I see you in pain and apparently unhealthy, my actions make you choose to speak untruthfully-”

 

He pauses at this, running his hand through his disheveled hair.

 

“And I don’t… I don’t have the answers,” he mutters, hiding his eyes behind his palm.  

 

“I’m- I’m lost here, Tom-,” 

 

The apartment lacks any other sound other than Chris’s low voice, as if it is still observing them both, and Tom shivers under its spectral muteness.

 

“I’m lost.” 

  
  
  
  


\------------------

  
  
  
  
  
  


Chris leaves the apartment mere minutes later.

With both of them drained, utterly exhausted after the day’s happenings, they come to a mutual, semi-spoken agreement that for tonight, enough has been said.

 

To his request, Tom fetches Chris a cup of water which he empties in a single, thirsty sip.

 

Tom grips his own forearms as he watches Chris closing the door behind him with a shadowed expression on his face, holding himself back from asking Chris to stay and spend the night in his bed.

 

He won’t run after Chris, nor will he beg. 

 

_ Not this time,  _ Tom convinces himself, digging his fingers into his arms’ flesh.

 

_ Not this time.  _

  
  
  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
  
  
  


Though worn out and weary, when Tom finally lies on his bed, he directs his gaze to the grey ceiling, and unleashes his mind to ride and turn on itself.

 

He hardly sleeps at all.

  
  
  
  


\-----------------------

  
  
  
  


He wakes up with a headache, a throbbing ball of weight gathering heavily in the back of his head, the skin around his eyes still tender.

 

He rests his forehead on the taxi’s window with his eyes closed on the way to the studios, both thinking and napping at once.

 

He is outrageously late, nodding a wordless apology to the staff lady who locates him in the studios and sends him to the dressing rooms right away to ready himself for today’s photo shoots.

 

The day goes by slowly, and Tom’s mind is both sluggish and thoughtful at once as the hours crawl by.

 

He picks up short glimpses of Chris as he is moved from one set to another, not even once catching Chris’s eyes in return.

 

During those fleeting moments Tom does see him, Chris’s face is solidly set as he is distantly engrossed in his present doings. 

 

When the day ends and Tom finishes his business on the set and leaves back for his flat,  Chris remains behind in the studios, occupied with his duties.

 

After the ride back home, Tom enters his apartment and lowers himself to the couch, not yet  bothering to remove his day time clothing.

 

He stares at the opposite wall for a long time, seeing the sunbeams reflecting over the walls, gradually changing from bright yellow to darker orange as the sun slowly sets in the horizon. 

 

When the entire flat is obscured and the sky is painted flaming red, Tom levers his cell phone from the table, dials a number, and waits as the dial tone plays in his ear.

 

“Tom?”

 

“Daniel,” Tom says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out somewhat parched, “hey, how have you been.”

 

“I need you to make a few arrangements for me.”

  
  
  
  
  


\-----------------------

  
  
  
  
  


Mere minutes later, Tom finalizes his phone call with Daniel.

 

He heads to the kitchen, where he pours himself a cup of cool water, then another. 

 

He splashes chilled water over his face afterwards, then leans his palms over the kitchen marble, staring at the urban view laid out from the window.

 

After a while, Tom walks back to the living room, picking up his cell phone once again.

 

His fingers hover over the dial menu, reluctant, but eventually Tom urges them on, until, once again, he listens to the dial tone playing.

 

“Hello?”

 

At the sound of a voice answering him, Tom tightens his hold on the device pressed to his ear. 

 

“Tom?” 

 

Tom swallows past the excess saliva in his mouth.

 

“Yeah, yeah, Renly, it’s me.”

 

“Ah, Tom, I’m glad you called. And what do you know, it’s not even Friday yet.” 

 

Tom lets out a polite, nervous chuckle at that.

 

“So, Tom,” Renly says and Tom’s hand fists on top of the cushions, “What have you got for me?”

 

Tom inhales unevenly, cursing himself for not being calm and collected.

 

He should feel satiated, chipper as a true winner.

 

“Well, Renly,” Tom begins, breathing deeply with his lips parted in a wordless gape.

 

_ Come on, come on- _

 

“I’m-” Tom mumbles, looking around the apartment, realizing at once, just before he speaks, that he shall need to leave this place behind him as well.

 

“I’m...I’m in,” he says, he voice flat and his chest heavy, “I’m in.”

 

From the other side of the line, Renly chuckles, clearly satisfied.

 

“Indeed!”

 

“Well done Tom, well done! I have no idea what is it that held you back for so long, but I’m glad you eventually made the right decision.”

 

“My boy, you won’t regret this. This one is a golden project, all the way through.”

 

From his seat on the sofa, Tom loosens his hold on his cellphone, his body gradually slacking into the cushions.

 

“Yeah,” Tom replies absently, “yeah, you’re right.”

 

His mind - is entirely blank.

 

“I won’t.”

  
  
  
  


\-------------------

  
  
  
  
  


Once the conversation between him and Renly is over, Tom drops his cell phone back on the coffee table.

 

He remains motionless in his seat, leaning his elbows on his knees and bowing his head down to stare at the floor, his fingers tapping.

 

After long minutes of impeccable silence, with the air completely still around him, Tom releases a disgruntled sigh and rises from the couch, heading to his bedroom.

 

He takes a hot shower, his face constantly pinched into a pensive frown as he slips into his clothes later on.

 

Walking back to the living room, Tom reclaims his seat on the couch, eyeing the fixed furniture of the large room, the small balcony, the hall leading to his bedroom, and finally - the kitchen.

 

An image suddenly flashes in his memory, of Chris, preparing himself coffee in that small kitchen while Tom himself is standing there, leaning on the door jamb as he watches Chris, thinking how nicely that tall blonde fits into his fancy little flat.

 

He remembers a heated exchange materializing shortly after, a hand holding his wrist while the other is holding his nape - and then a gangly, cautious kiss taking place. 

 

He recalls that kiss growing into heat as his back is pressed to the wall, banging his head against the concrete in the process - and he chuckles breathlessly. 

 

“It was rather funny, wasn’t it” he mumbles, and lets more time pass, the last sunbeams of the day giving way to the pale moonlight to slip through the window.

 

Tom returns to look at his cellphone, his fingers withering against themselves.

 

In the end, it is not him who makes the call.

 

The small devices vibrates on the table, and when Tom reads the caller’s identity - he shivers.

 

“Oh,” he grunts, nervously rubbing his palm over his face. 

 

With a jittery breath, Tom compels himself to answer.

 

“Hey,” Tom murmurs, his mouth hidden under his palm, “What’s up.”

 

“Hey,” Chris’s voice tickles Tom’s ear, “I’m alright.”

 

Chris’s tone is almost identical to that he used yesterday, just before he left Tom’s apartment - aloof and reserved.

 

“I, - didn’t see you today on the set, did you show up? - are you doing ok?”

 

Tom turns to stare at the window, his mouth heavy and unwilling.

 

“Tom?” 

 

He licks his lips, running his fingers through his hair until they reach to the back of his neck.

 

“Chris,” Tom starts, and falters.

 

_ Make it short and practical, a clean cut, _ his father used to tell him, and Tom grates his jaws, that old emotion filling his throat once again.

 

_ A clean cut? _

 

“Chris,” he says through his teeth, “I took the part, Chris.”

 

To this, Chris becomes quiet at once.

 

“I took it,” Tom whispers.

 

“Tomorrow, five am - I am boarding to flight to Paris.”

 

From the other side of the line comes utter silence, with only Chris’s breath to sound through.

 

Moments tick by, but eventually, he speaks.

 

“Can I come over at least?” He asks quietly, “Talk face to face?”

 

Tom presses his eyes shut, touching his fingers to his brow.

 

The thought of waiting for Chris to say he loves him, it only forces him to remember yesterday’s uncontrollable tears, and Tom shakes his head at the empty room.

 

_ I am a man, for heaven’s sake, not some damsel in distress,- _

 

“No, Chris,-” he mutters under his breath-,

 

_ This is it _ , he thinks vehemently,  _ this blasted series is my chance, they want me for that bloody role, no one else,- and they are not afraid to say so- _

 

“Don’t come here,” Tom forces himself to say,-

 

_ Time heals everything _ \- That too Tom’s father used to tell him, when he found his son crying viciously as a mere boy after a childhood fight with friends, huddled in the corner of his small bedroom.

 

“Don’t come.”

  
  
  
  


\--------------------

  
  
  
  


Within the small dressing room, his gaze set on the pale wall, Chris slowly dips his cell phone device into jeans’ back pocket.

 

_ He is leaving. _

 

He is leaving, and Chris has felt this before, when another one from his past, a young boy, had left for a different continent under circumstances almost identical.

 

Almost no staff member is present on the set at this late hour, the dressing rooms hallway is completely deserted, and inside the dressing room is a table, accompanied by two wooden chairs.

 

He can’t, he can’t hold himself back this time.

 

Closing the gap between him and the furniture in a large, single step, Chris kicks the chair, launching it away from its place on the floor.

 

The wood hits the wall with a loud bang, one that echos back from the walls like a harsh, low rumble, or perhaps it is more like anger and embarrassment.

 

Chris stares at the chair tumbling down to the floor, then back at the white concrete, now scarred by a somber scratch, reminding him of an ugly claw mark. 

 

Chris’s blood is rushing and his mind overflown, as if it is diving deep into the cold, darkened ocean waters. 

 

“He left.”

  
  
  
  


\---------------

  
  
  
  
  


Tom folds another pair of trousers, and places them into his suitcase along with the rest of his belongings.

 

When the last of his personal possessions is ordered properly inside his luggage, Tom gently lowers himself to sit on the bedding.

 

From his place on the mattress he looks around his bedroom - until his eyes come to rest on the bed.

 

Stretching his arm, Tom caresses the linens, mesmerising the touch of the soft sheets.

 

He lets the minutes go by, glancing at the window at times, now reflecting the stars and moonlight.

 

When the time comes, Tom hauls his suitcase down the hallway, opens the door, and places his luggage just outside the door step.

 

He leans his shoulder on the door jamb then, silently regarding to living room and listening to the by now familiar urban chatter of the street.

 

Soon, Tom straightens up, and takes old of the door’s handle, stepping outside into the stair room.

 

Before he closes the door behind him, Tom hovers his fingers over the door jamb, peeking into the living room one last time.

 

“I will miss you, too,” he whispers.

  
  
  
  


\--------------------

  
  
  
  


Tom’s flight departs at seven minutes past five am, with the first light of dawn devising through the clouds just as the plane’s wheels detach from the ground.

 

Tom watches at first, but leans his head back and closes his eyes when the sight of the earth becoming distant is revealed.

 

The flight lands during early evening in Paris’s largest, busiest airport, after which Tom gestures for a taxi, handing the driver the address of his hotel.

 

The hotel staff welcomes him warmly, efficiently showing Tom into his comfortable, rather luxurious room.

 

That night, after watching the great view of Paris under the background of dusk pink and orange sky, Tom sleeps in a large, apparently comfortable bed, its linens cold and crisp to the touch.

  
  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  
  


With the prattle of a foreign language in his ears and European cool morning breeze blowing over his face, Tom pushes open the large, heavy door leading to the appointed studios hall.

 

Some rehearsals prior to the series’ actual filming are to take place in Paris, and in less than two weeks the entire production staff is expected to move again - on their way to northern France.

 

Tom is met with one of the production’s representatives, who greets him with a polite smile and leads him into the main stage room.

 

The intended room is bustling, filled with activity and also - Tom’s new fellow actors who are busy with their scripts and newly appointed customs.

 

Following an old instinct, Tom’s eyes roam over the large set, seeking for one person in particular, curious whether that specific man is seated somewhere near by, reading into his script, but Tom catches himself almost - almost right away, shaking his head with bated breath.

 

He is being directed to the dressing rooms, when a remotely familiar figure emerges from the crowd, walking at his direction with a spirited, clever smile.

 

“Hiddleston!” the man bellows brightly, reaching for a handshake and adding an airy slap to Tom’s back, “you’re finally here Tom, good to see you.”

 

Tom takes Renly’s offered hand, bracing his best smile to his lips.

 

“You too Renly, you too. It’s great to be here.”

 

“Definitely,” Renly says, “I take it you are comfortable here? You slept well?

 

Tom hesitates only for a moment.

 

“Yeah, yeah - I rested well enough,” he replies with a nod, still smiling, and draws his arm back to its place.

 

“Brilliant, brilliant,” Renly says.

 

They chat for a short while, until Renly looks around him, apparently searching for someone, until he gestures with his arm, inviting a lady who was standing nearby to join them.

 

“Tom, this is Celine,” Renly informs him, “she’ll take it from here and help you with whatever it is that you need,” then reaches to bestow a friendly squeezes to Tom’s shoulder.

 

“It’s good to have you with us Tom, we’ll do some great things together, I’m sure.”

 

“Thank you, and we will,” Tom counters.

 

With another friendly slap, Renly leaves, returning to his earlier business.

 

Standing to his side, Celine gestures for Tom to follow her.

 

She leads Tom around the set, introducing him to all the relevant part of the studio, then directs them to the actors’ dedicated dressing rooms.

 

She is a nice, good looking lady, generous with her explanations and kind with her patience.

 

“Well, here it is, this one is yours” she halts next to a grey wooden door, opens it, then hands the key to Tom.

 

“Thank you, Celine.”

 

“You’re welcome, Tom, It is good to have finally met you.” 

 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks, then-

 

“Do you need anything else?”

 

Tom looks at her, suddenly tongue tied.

 

Once again, out of a habit, he peeks at the adjacent dressing rooms’ hall.

 

During the last few months, upon almost each day Tom spent on the set, Chris always used to be around, sometimes even within an arm’s reach.

 

Tom blinks at the hallway, tearing his gaze back to Celine.

 

“No, not at the moment,” he says, smiling, “thank you.”

 

Smiling back pleasantly, Celine turns around and heads back to the main stage room.

 

With a quiet hum, Tom opens the door to his dedicated chamber, placing his backpack on the nearest table, then turns to observe his room for the first time.

 

His room is well furnished, overly spacious, with a mini bar placed at the corner and an inviting lounge seat located next to it.

 

On the opposite wall, is a wide, brilliantly black TV screen. 

 

At the sight of all of these, Tom smirks, somewhat breathless.

 

He removes his heavy jacket, then starts unbuttoning his shirt in favor of his intended customized suit.

 

“I did the right thing,” he mutters to himself, looking around the room once more.

 

It appears so spacious.

 

He pulls the new shirt over his torso, wears on the new trousers, takes a quick look at the mirror for good measure, and turns to leave the room.

 

He walks down the hallway on his way back to the main stage room, halting when he enters it, eyeing his future colleagues, and the new, extensive set - whirling with people.

 

Tom inhales deeply, breathing in a long, shaky breath.

 

_ I did the right thing. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the passenger  
> And I ride and I ride  
> I ride through the city's backside  
> I see the stars come out of the sky  
> Yeah, they're bright in a hollow sky  
> You know it looks so good tonight
> 
> I am the passenger  
> I stay under glass  
> I look through the window, and what do I see?  
> I see the sided hollow sky  
> I see the stars come out tonight  
> I see the city's ripped backsides  
> I see the winding ocean drive
> 
> But all of it, it was made for you and me.  
> So baby, get into the car - we'll be the passenger  
> 'Cause it just belongs to you and me  
> So let's take a ride and see what's mine
> 
>  
> 
> [Iggy Pop - The Passenger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLhN__oEHaw)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings - 
> 
> 1\. Intense conversations and emotions taking place  
> 2\. Some usage of physical force - yet no one gets hurt  
> 3\. Some profanity


	28. The lost passenger - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now all those things that seemed so important - they vanished right into the air.  
> And I just act like I don't remember, and Mary acts like she doesn't care.
> 
> But I do remember, remember us riding in my brother's car, her body tan and wet down at the reservoir.  
> At night on them banks I'd lie awake and pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take -  
> And now those memories come back to haunt me, they haunt me like a curse.
> 
> Tell me,  
> Is a dream a lie if it doesn't come true?  
> Or is it something worse?  
>  
> 
> [ The River - Bruce Springsteen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nAB4vOkL6cE)
> 
> [ A live version of the same song, which takes my heart.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkF6Vb2EQUw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> Warnings are located at the end of this chapter, though they contain spoilers. 
> 
> The next chapter should be rather short, and so I hope to publish it within the next few days.
> 
> I do hope you shall enjoy your reading :)

Chris is running.

 

The cool, dry ocean breeze is cooling his shoulder and whistling wickedly into his left ear, the sand is exhaustingly soft under his feet, but he maintains his canter for a long, breathy hour before he finally slows down his pace to a mild walk.

 

Catching his breath, Chris walks onwards, slowly closing the distance between him and a large rock half sunk into the earth.

 

He circles the rock, searching for a manageable fraction of surface among the pointy edges, and when he spots a passable segment, Chris climbs the remaining distance, hops over a deep slit in the gravel, and eventually sits down, his face to the sea.

 

The sun has set long ago, and the ocean - silvery black while reflecting the moonlight, seems to be waiting.

 

In the past, the sea has kept a vast, wordless company to Chris during his most troubling dilemmas, has contained Chris’s dubious secrets, and tonight, after long months of absence, Chris is paying the ocean a new visit.

 

With the scent of salt and his own sweat in his nose, Chris thinks of his children, of his wife. 

 

He thinks of hot jealousy, that blinding envy that may surge through him, may boil his blood and burst into a physical fight.

 

Chris stares at the sea, squinting when he can’t tell where the dark waters end and the black sky begins.

 

“I’m a sinner,” he murmurs, and reaches to his side pocket to draw out his cellphone.

 

He searches for a number, dials, and waits.

 

“Hello,” a voice answers, “Chris?”

 

Chris clears his throat.

 

“Howard, hey, yeah, it’s me.”

 

“Chris,” Howard replies, “it’s good to hear from you.”

 

Chris drags his thumb across his brow, humming in response.

 

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly, “thank you, it’s good to hear you too,” and pauses, gazing at the black waves crawling on the shore, unsure of how to begin.

 

He knows well enough why he called, and yet.

 

“How are you, then,” Howard asks him gently.

 

Chris smiles thinly to himself.

 

The man probably knows why Chris has called just as well.

 

At the moment, Howard is only one Chris would talk to.

 

“I did it, Howard,” he tells him quietly, “I spoke to Tom.”

 

“I told him the truth.”

 

A hesitant hum comes from Howard to this.

 

“You did?” he asks, and Chris holds his breath, then-

 

“Well done, Chris, well done.”

 

Chris blinks at the dark sea, confused at the unexpected endorsement.

 

“It must have been difficult, I’m happy for you,” Howard adds, and Chris furrows his eyebrows even further.

 

_ No, You don’t understand-, _

 

“No, Howard, he-” Chris starts, shaking his head in frustration, in anger for being called a  _ coward- _

 

“He left, ok?” Chris almost drawls at the man-

 

“He wasn’t happy with what I told him, and he left. He decided to leave to France in favor of a- a special role he has accepted, a good professional opportunity he said-”

 

Chris pauses at this, pursing his lips as he hears himself rumbling, and waits for Howard’s response.

 

“He didn’t like what you had to say- and he left,” Howard says eventually, his voice thoughtful, “for a professional opportunity.”

 

Chris pinches his nose, eyeing the empty beach around him.

 

“Yeah,” he confirms.

 

“What did you say to him?” Howard asks.

 

Chris breathes deeply, recalling his memories from the last conversation he had shared with Tom.

 

_ That it’s not easy for me _ , he repeats to Howard,  _ that I need some time before I speak to my wife, that I’m scared and I don’t have all the answers. _

 

Howard patiently listens to him, replying only when Chris goes quiet again.

 

“Well, Chris,” he starts, his voice calm, “I’m not sure whether this disappoints you or not, but all of this does not change my mind-”

 

“I’m glad you were honest with him, I truly believe you did the right thing,” Howard insists, and Chris bristles, shaking his head and clicking his tongue at the same time.

 

“Honest or a liar,” Chris throws back, feeling desperate, “What difference does it make? Look at the results-”

 

He pauses, swallowing down before he has to say this out loud again.

 

“The guy left, alright? He’s there, I’m here, and he told me not to call, not to visit, called me a stinking coward, a selfish bastard-”

 

Chris grunts with despair and releases exasperated sigh.

 

From the other side of the line, Howard does not respond at first, letting only the regular pace of his breathing come through the line, and for a moment, Chris wonders whether he’d said too much.

 

“Chris, look.” Howard starts slowly.

 

“What you are sharing with me is what I can only assume a rather sensitive, private information, and the best I can offer you in return is my personal opinion, which is solely based on my individual experience- Is that what you want?”

 

Chris agrees almost immediately, suddenly far more curious than he’d thought he would be.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

“Alright then-” Howard considers.

 

“The way I see it, or as I have come to learn, it is so, that whenever you decide to give voice to your thoughts, there will always, always, be someone who will not be happy with them, or contradict your personal take on matters.”

 

“And sometimes, this someone shall turn out to be one of those you cherish most- and that, Chris, is ok.” 

 

“Each of us has a different set of rules in their mind, different interests too, and that’s ok, it’s fine.”

 

Chris listens carefully to Howard’s words, his face pinched in concentration.

 

“I’m not following,” he admits, unsatisfied.

 

_ It’s not ok, it’s not- _

 

“What I mean to say is,” Howard cuts into his thoughts, “that what you did, choosing to be honest, laying out the truth as it is without trying to make it sound comfortable or pretty, should be done regardless of other people’s opinions.”

 

“Rather, It is a deed you do for yourself,” Howard finishes evenly.

 

Chris taps his heel on the ground, his eye twitching doubtfully. 

 

He can’t find comfort in this claim. 

 

That’s it? He’s struggled to be honest, he’s exposed his most nightmarish shortcomings, his failing abilities- and- and that’s it? That’s where it ends? With himself?

 

“But, Howard,” he counters, “I don’t understand-”, but Howard stops him.

 

“It’s a start, Chris. A start,” he says calmly.

 

“Being honest, discussing your own personal preferences and wills - this gives you an opportunity to put your feet down and understand yourself better, despite the fact that you are not happy with the outcome.” 

 

“Did you really think you would be able to get past this chapter, to share something with that Tom of yours, without speaking some truth first?”

 

Chris pauses at this, unable to contradict this claim.

 

“You want to know what I really think? I think you are only half way through,” Howard continues.

 

“Go, speak to your wife, be honest with her as well. She has a right to know.”

 

With no words to reply, Chris lifts his gaze to the ocean again.

 

He lets moments go by, watching the waves slowly sweeping back and forth over the sand.

 

“I think about my family a lot,” he whispers, his fingers gripping the rocky edge of the stone as he says this, “my kids-”

 

“What will they think, what will they say-” 

 

_ How I want to be a good father _ , he thinks and moans into his palm.

 

He goes quiet after this, unable to say more for long moments.

 

The waves are swarming, teeming with wet sizzle along the shore, and Chris wants to strip his clothes, he wants to run into the water, and dive in. To let it all go.

 

“Chris, my dear,” Howard replies gently, and Chris blinks out of his reverie, unprepared for the tender endearment. 

 

“Believe it or not, things will be fine. You probably don’t know half of what you are capable of.” 

 

“Give them love, respect,” Howard tells him with a delicate voice, “and they shall all pay you with the same coin, all in good time.”

 

With his stare fixed on the sea, Chris narrows his eyes at this.

 

_ Love and respect. _

 

He picks up a small pebble from the ground, and with a sharp motion, tosses the small rock into the waters.

 

“I think about him, too,” he says quietly, “about his tears, and things he said to me-”

 

Chris closes his eyes, dragging his palm over his face.

 

“I wanted him to stay,” he finishes with a sigh. 

 

“I wanted to get to know him better.”

 

The line resumes its wordless lull, until Howard begins his response with a deep breath.

 

“I will say this as a friend, Chris-” he says slowly, drawing Chris’s attention.

 

_ A friend. _

 

“I don’t think anything shall ever happen between you two, if you won’t speak to your wife first.”

 

Chris presses his fingers into his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

 

_ A friend peppered with some scathing honesty. _

 

“Yeah, I get it.”

 

He’s left with no more words after this, but he waits, allowing the conversation to be prolonged despite its stillness. 

 

How soothing, how this kindness touches him deep - to speak to someone who won’t scold, who won’t judge him.

 

The wind begins to woosh around him, sending some shivers through his body, as if reminding him that it is time to go, and Chris rises heavily from the rock, stretching his neck as he straightens from his hardened, calloused seat.

 

“Chris.”

 

Chris turns his head, looking at the path leading back to the main road behind him, the one that shall take him back into town.

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“It is not your fault that he left.”

 

Chris creases his brows at this, frowning.

 

“I thought you don’t believe in coddling,” he says.

 

“And you thought correctly,” Howard replies at once.

 

“Make no mistake - you both carry an equal amount of responsibility in this business.”

 

“You were in this together - along every step of the way,” he tells him, and Chris once again purses his lips together.

 

“There are many, many ways to deal with disagreements, and indeed, your Tom here chose to pack up his things and leave, which is not one of them.”

 

Chris runs his hand through his hair, absorbing the words with caution.

 

“Each of us has his reasons to act one way or another, and I don’t think that this professional opportunity Tom was talking about, nor your own misconducts, are the only issues here.”

 

At once, Chris casts his gaze downwards, glowering at an undefined spot far ahead.

 

“What?” he charges, “What are you saying?”

 

Howard hesitates with his answer, and Chris is about to press for a clarification once again, but Howard precedes him.

 

“I’m saying,” he begins, and how can this man sound so confident about this -, “that just like you, Tom has his own obstacles to overcome.”

 

Chris, not sure how to interpret this claim, looks upwards, this time aiming his gaze for the sky, seeing that the moon is full tonight.

 

It shines bright, bold and audacious, as if it is staring right back at Chris with a raised eyebrow.

 

“What I’m trying to say,” Howard says,-

 

“Is that something tells me that you are not the only one who has some demons to negotiate with.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


\------@@@@@@------

  
  
  
  
  
  


Ever since his late teenage years, when he met his first opportunity as an actor, Tom has taken each opening with great seriousness, working diligently around each and every role he’s managed to get his hands on.

 

He has always strived to be no less than good at what he does, and preferably, in Tom’s mind, he wishes to be nothing short of exceptional in his field.

 

He shows up on time to the studios, he performs with vigor on the set, he is vibrant and he is accurate with his roles, and far beyond than just acting - Tom wants his characters to shine on the screen.

 

Tom is intelligent, he’s witty, and he is charming.

 

He has always been, and he shall always be - strong.

  
  
  
  
  


\----------------------

  
  
  
  
  


Tom bends down to his heels, peeks beneath the bed, and frowns.

 

He grabs the shooting rifle, draws it to him, and straightens up back to his feet.

 

“Did you take this from my bedroom, Bastian?”

 

The boy, standing at the corner of the room with his head bowed and his arms held behind his back, nods at Tom.

 

“Say it so I can hear it, boy.”

 

The boy flinches at this.

 

“Y-yes, father.”

 

Tom glowers at him, holstering the rifle over his shoulder.

 

“Did Solomon’s son told you to get it?”

 

The boy nods nervously again, shuffling his feet over the floor.

 

“Speak up son!” 

 

The boy shivers under his father’s command.

 

“Yes father!” he shrieks, and the woman who is standing next to Tom rushes to the child.

 

“Aiden! Please!” she whimpers, pulling the boy to her chest.

 

Tom turns to stare at her.

 

“You want your boy to become a criminal like that scoundrel’s boy next door? Huh?” he throws at her, making her moan in grief.

 

“Do you?” Tom says through his teeth.

 

“I won’t have it May, you hear me?” he hisses at her, his fingers tightly wrapped around the rifle’s neck.

 

“I won’t have it.”

 

And then, silence.

 

“Cut!”

 

Tom relieves his rigid stance.

 

“Alright, you guys, alright!,” Renly exclaims-

 

“I think we got ourselves a shot!”

 

Tom looks around him as the other actors are descending from the stage.

 

With a low breath, he removes the rifle from his back, it’s terribly uncomfortable being holstered over his shoulder, and hands it to the nearest staff member he can find.

 

“Hiddleston! ” Tom hears his name being called in Renly’s voice.

 

“Come here Tommy, I want you to watch this one with me.”

 

Tom stretches his neck, nodding at a teenage boy who offers him a cup of cool water.

 

Three weeks have passed since he’s landed in France, and the production has moved its entire cast and equipment away from Paris to the country’s north a little more than a week ago. 

 

Everything goes as planned. 

 

Tom is acting, delivering an interesting character as a part of a prestigious series production, and he’s doing it - he is using this great opportunity to leverage his personal career into new, previously unreachable distances.

 

Tom inhales quietly, closing his eyes as he massages his shoulder.

 

“Yeah,” he replies mildly, “be there in a moment.”

 

“Take a look,” Renly invites Tom to lean closer when he nears, rewinding the media in his small manual camera.

 

They both watch the scene replaying on the small screen, and Tom sees himself from mere minutes ago, acting out Aiden’s character.

 

“It came out sharp,” Renly tells him, a satisfied grin playing on his lips, “didn’t it,” and Tom continues to stare at the playing camera, momentarily unresponsive.

 

Yes, the scene rolled out quite well, Tom can see it with his own eyes.

 

“Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, it did.”

 

Renly turns to look at him.

 

“You don’t sound too convinced,” Renly says, his expression questioning, “You disagree?” he asks, and Tom shakes his head, stressing out a smile.

 

“What? No, no, I’m with you on this,” he reassures Renly, then regards the small camera again - thoughtful as he sees himself playing out the script he’s learnt with precision.

 

_ It’s good _ , he tells himself,  _ it looks great,  _ he thinks, preparing the words on his tongue, but Tom needs more than a mere moment before he can actually say them out loud.

 

“It’s brilliant Renly,” Tom says eventually, licking his lips as his shoulder calls for another rub-

 

“It’s- it’s brilliant.”

  
  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  
  
  


A new apartment has been rented for him, conveniently located just a few kilometers down the road from the filming zone. 

 

It’s large, it’s well equipped with new furniture, and this time - Tom’s not so small balcony is overlooking some gentle hills covered by green pastures in the horizon -  instead of the city lights.

 

He invites over friends, chaps he hadn’t been able to see or hang out with while he’d been staying in the United States.

 

He brings a few women to his flat as well, all of them beautiful, fun, and most of them - quite nice. 

 

With no exception -  all the ladies love Tom’s apartment, its spaciousness, its view, always cooing with surprise upon learning the fact the Tom does not have to pay a single dime for it.

  
  


They say it’s wonderful.

  
  
  
  


\------------

  
  
  
  
  
  


And sometimes, when he shares his bed with one of those ladies, and sleep is robbed from him because of those memories- those memories that storm in his mind - Tom misses his old apartment more than he could tell.

  
  
  
  
  
  


\----------------

  
  
  
  


Chris is running.

 

When the sand finally turns soft beneath his feet, he slows down to a halt.

 

He has come to find some silence, along with some quiet, ancient company.

 

With the sky black above him, he removes his clothes, until he is left with his short sweatpants only.

 

With a final look around him - he is alone on the shore, Chris starts walking towards the water.

 

The waters are ice cold, and Chris ceases his advance when the sea encircles his waist.

 

“Cold, huh,” he gasps, shivering as he prepares himself.

 

“Well, so am I.”

 

He makes sure that he is the only person swimming within the visible range, and with a tight inhale, curves his torso - and dives his head first into the water. 

 

His body tightens at the sharp bolt of freezing chill, but Chris reaches his arms and swims forward into the depths, aiming for the bottom of the sea.

 

When his hands meet with the sand, Chris ceases his rowing and lets his body go still, floating through the water as his fingertips graze the silky, somehow warm soil.

 

Breathing as little as possible, while his legs are rowing weakly in order to maintain his constant glide under water and with his eyes closed, Chris listens to the ocean.

 

The ocean is quiet, always quiet, but for the gentle flux of bubbles and currents, and Chris, since he’s been a child, has always found solace under the sea’s waters.

 

Moments pass, only the delicate draw of water’s flow in his ears, but he and the depths of the sea cannot remain friends forever.

 

He needs to breath.

He tries to resist, wishing to prolong his float a little bit longer, but when his lungs begin to sting - Chris brings his feet to the fluid ground, and shoves his body upwards.

 

_ Don’t call, don’t come and see me- _

 

He swims, the last amount of oxygen he’s left with breaking out of his mouth, and finally thrusts his head out of the water with a strained gasp.

 

“And a coward, you said,” he mutters, wiping his hand over his face and through his matted hair.

 

He breathes heavily, the cold waves threatening to wreck against him, and with another throaty inhale, he dips into the water again.

 

_ You said you love- me,  _ he thinks, trying to reach deeper than before, until he should feel and hear nothing, and only stops when his fingers slide over the slippery bottom.

 

He kicks with his legs under water, fighting the currents which are drawing him to the surface, until his lungs demand their oxygen once again, and he yields, allowing the sea to pull him back up.

 

“But I felt so lonely,-” he hisses when he bursts out of the water, spitting out salt water from his mouth.

 

“S-son of a bitch,” he pants, shivering against the cold dry wind that slaps his face while rowing under the icy waters.

 

Chris cranes his head upwards, his breath coming out in short, measured gasps.

 

“I’ve had enough,” he mutters at the clouded sky, “enough-”, and closes his eyes, breathing in the salty ocean air.

 

He dives again, deeper than before, curling with the water, struggling to stay in the depths - even after his body starts to burn for air.

  
  
  
  
  


\---------------- 

  
  
  
  
  


For the fourth time in the last three months since he has left the United States, Tom’s family is gathering for a late Saturday night dinner in his parents’ house.

 

They are all there - his mother, his father, and both of his sisters, who showed up along with their spouses.

 

The meal is pleasant enough, Tom is glad to have those opportunities to meet his closest relatives, and yet - when the utensils and cutlery are removed from the table, he prefers to drain the last drops of wine from his glass and head to the apartment’s balcony, where he leans his elbows over the cool metal banister, and gazes at the view of his childhood hometown.

 

For minutes, Tom stares ahead, only speaking when his mother calls him to join them for dessert, telling her he’ll be back inside and join everyone in just a few minutes.

 

Here, in his parents’ house, with the seat next to him at the table being constantly empty, it is more difficult to try and repress, or rather hide behind daily routine.

 

Memories resurface within his mind, of disappointment, of heated conversations and sex, of romantic, outrageous gifts and gestures-

 

With a quiet sigh, Tom runs the tips of his fingers over his creased forehead, bowing his head as he closes his eyes.

 

When he hears footsteps cautiously nearing his place next to the banister, he quickly pinches his nose and straightens his stance, clearing his throat without bothering to turn around and verify the newcomer’s identity.

 

“Hello, Tommy.”

 

At the sound of her voice, tinged with some cute mischievousness, Tom tilts his head, acknowledging his sister with a small smile.

 

“Hello, Emmy.”

 

Emma smiles back, coming to stand next to Tom and match his leaning position over the banister.

 

“It’s nice out here, isn’t it.”

 

Tom regards the view, and nods.

 

His sister is up to something, he can tell.

 

“Yeah, it is,” he answers.

 

Emma looks at him, her eyes searching Tom’s face.

 

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she states, “Is everything alright?”

 

Tom returns her look and gathers his poise, wanting her to see that he is, in fact, calm and content.

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

Unsatisfied, Emma probes further. 

 

“How’s that special role working out for you? You happy there? Are they treating you well?”

 

Tom works his jaws, considering before he answers.

 

“It’s working out well. I’m glad about how the filming and production are progressing.”

 

Emma watches him wordlessly, her face drawn, skeptical, and Tom cocks his head at her.

 

“What? Why are looking at me like this?”

Emma purses her lips together.

 

“A few months ago you were gloating with hope to accept this part, doing everything in your hands to beat the auditions, and now that you have the very main role, you're - glad?”

 

Tom clicks his tongue, tapping his palm over the metal banister.

 

“I’m doing great in there, Emm. The staff is terrific, they let me play the scenes however I want to, I’m the ace of the soddin’ set, alright?” he says with a smirk.

 

To this, Emma turns to face the view again, unresponsive at first.

 

“I see,” she says finally, and then - “and how’s that fleeting bird of yours?” 

 

Tom turns his head to her, his movement coming out much sharper than he’d intended.

 

“Who?” he asks, but his attempt is unconvincing at best. He remembers immediately.

 

“You heard me,” his sister glances at him, “How is she fairing?”

 

When Tom hesitates with his reply, his sister continues.

 

“She stayed in America, didn’t she,” she asks him in a knowing tone, “she didn’t come to Europe with you.”

 

Tom narrows his eyes at the horizon, useless heat coiling in his stomach. He should have known Emma would corner him with this.

 

“It didn’t work out Emm,” he says plainly, and nothing more.

 

When he peeks at her, his sister is staring at him, doubtful confusion written over her face.

 

“What happened?” she asks him quietly, a question that triggers a raid of accusations and unanswered questions in Tom’s mind, a rushing flow that Tom resists at once.

 

“It simply ended,” he tells her stiffly, “nothing that’s worth noting, really."

 

“It simply ended?” Emma repeats Tom’s statement, to which he nods with some exaggeration, emphasizing his definitive answer.

 

“You wanted her, why would it simply end?”

 

“She turned out to be a coward, ok?” Tom snaps, turning to face her fully.

 

“She was a coward, and I was a fool for ever thinking it might work out between us, alright?” he tells her, and it hurts, it hurts so much to say this.

 

It’s been months,  _ months _ , and his own heart refuses to forgive Tom for leaving Chris behind-

 

“It’s over, it’s over between us, and I left so I can forget all about it and do what’s best for me, do you see what I mean?” he says, half breathless.

 

“I’m waiting for no one, I’m doing well, I’m successful-” he asserts her, and swallows hard, his throat working as his speaks.

 

“I’m successful, ok?” he says once again, “and it was the right thing to do.”

 

When he finishes speaking, Tom glances down at himself, noticing his finger pointing at his own chest, and he quickly discards it, wiping his palm over his mouth instead.

 

His sister is observing him, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

 

Tom raises his eyebrow at her in a challenge for her to contradict him, but Emma only crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes annoyingly knowing and… kind.

 

“Well,” she tells him, looking at his entire figure from head to toe, “obviously, it was.”

 

She advances a single step closer to Tom, then squeezes his shoulder with affection.

 

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk, my dear brother,” she says gently and pats his cheek before she turns to talk back into the living room.

 

Tom watches her leave, their little argument is still ringing in his ears.

 

When his mother calls his name again, he straightens up, rearranging his shirt collar around his neck.

 

“I’m coming mum,” he mutters under his breath, taking one last look at the view of the city of his youth, “I’m coming.”

  
  
  
  


\------------------------------

  
  
  
  


_ Fifty one, fifty two,- _

 

Tom sets his jaws with a hiss, lowers his chest to the floor, and pushes back up, exhaling through his teeth.

 

_ Fifty nine, sixty,- _

 

He lowers his body to the floor once again and remains still this time, gasping as he allows himself a short break.

 

When he glances at the gym hall, he sees Paul, one of his fellow actors, staring at him curiously with his towel hung around his shoulders.

 

“What?” Tom asks him, his tone short.

 

Paul shrugs, smirking at him quizzically.

 

“Were’nt you supposed to finish with those push-ups three sets ago?”

 

Tom’s eyebrow twitches at that.

 

He swallows, mentally preparing his body for the next set.

 

“No,” he answers thinly, already pushing for the first beat in his sixth set, “I ain’t done yet.”

 

He budges on, up and down, his arms working harder and harder, driven forward by a hot, angry sense of insistence that grips him-

 

_ Eighty five, eighty six- _

 

Tom forces his body upwards again, his muscles shaking with effort and sweat trickling down his nose, down his chin-

 

“Uh,” he sputters, biceps screaming for relief as he fights for one more levitation, and exhales tightly, struggling to hold his body in an ascend-

 

_ Ninety - nine, one - hundred- _

 

With a constricted moan, Tom lets his arms yield, toning himself back down as gently as possible, though his body practically drops to the mattress with a low thud, his damp forehead wetting the crisp surface.

 

Catching his breath, Tom slowly rises to sit on his knees, supporting his balance with an unsteady palm leveraging on the floor. 

 

He straightens, tremors running through his legs as he stands up. 

 

Wiping his face, Tom coughs mildly into piece of cloth, and advances to the men’s dressing rooms, paying a weak wave to Paul as he leaves the gym hall.

 

He showers, his breath still heavy when the warm waters wash over his torso.

 

When he exits the steamy booth, Tom walks towards his hand bag, but halts when he catches his reflection from the corner of his eye, and turns to face the large mirror to his side.

 

With only a haggard piece of towel tied around his waist, Tom gazes at his own impression reflecting from the mirror. 

 

His chest shines with a thin layer of water, still flushing from recent effort, his muscles pronounced and firm.

 

After weeks of intensified exercise, Tom has added another layer of muscle to his body.

 

With gentle tap of dripping waters tickling his ears, he observes his frame, lips slightly parted as he stares. 

 

He’s worked his body hard, very hard, for this better physical appearance, but now - Tom’s mind is unexpectedly blank, and he is not sure what to think upon seeing this image of himself.

 

Suddenly feeling ridiculous, why can’t he just feel satisfied? - Tom shakes his head in annoyance and grabs for another towel to dry his hair, when a the voice of another person calls Tom’s attention back to the mirror.

 

“What is there to think about so much mate?” Paul asks him with an amused smile, “You look good Tom,-” he says.

 

“You look great.”

  
  
  
  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  
  
  
  


Mere minutes after he enters his flat, Tom’s cell phone rings with an incoming call.

 

Feeling for his cellphone in his jeans’ back pocket, Tom reaches to massage his nape when he sees the caller’s identity.

 

“Yeah, what’s up Dan.”

 

“Oh, I feel splendid Tom,” Daniel replies, unexpectedly cheerful, “and so do you, actually,” she informs him.

 

Tom chuckles at this, uncertain as he nestles the device between his shoulder to his ear.

 

“I do?” 

 

Daniel responds with a matching, excited giggle to this.

 

“Yes you do!,” she exclaims, “Tom! You did it! You are nominated for this year’s Britain’s greatest breakthrough award!”

 

Tom pauses his walk, blinking at the long hall leading to his bedroom as he reaches to hold his cellphone with his palm.

 

“I am?” he murmurs stupidly, taken by surprise.

 

He’d been aware of the possibility that he should be named as a nominee, but-

 

“Yes! Yes you are!” Daniel bellows happily, “I just finished my conversation with the representative of the ceremony-”

 

Tom chuckles, absently walking back and forth in the main living room as he lets the announcement sink into his mind.

 

“That’s- that’s just great Dan, I mean- such good news, I’m glad you called,-”

 

Daniel huffs another snicker at him.

 

“Those are brilliant news Tom! Throw in some excitement here, would you? You’re in!”

 

Tom chuckles some more, if breathlessly, somewhat overwhelmed by Daniel’s loud announcement.

 

He thanks her again for letting him know, and later, when he lies in his bed with his blood still oozing in pulses after his intense workout, he stares at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take over.

 

_ I’m successful. _

  
  
  
  
  


\----------------------

  
  
  
  
  


At very the same day, after Chris enters his home, he makes his way to the shower almost right away, not bothering with dinner.

 

He cleanses himself slowly, thoroughly pensive as he takes his time wearing his clothes afterwards.

 

He walks to his daughter's bedroom, hovering next to the door for a few good minutes before pushing it open.

 

He finds her slipping into her cartoons pyjamas, she loves the sense of independence, and picks her up for a squeezing hug when runs to greet him.

 

He joins her on her bed a little bit later, and convinces her to read a book he brought her many months ago, about the earth, the sun and the stars.

 

They watch the beautiful photos together, they chat about kindergarten, about how hard it is to wake up at the mornings when it’s winter, and about their funny, noisy little lady neighbor.

 

She gets sleepy then, as they giggle with each other, resting her head under Chris’s chin, and Chris caresses her arm, asking her whether she’d like to be put to sleep then.

 

When she lies in her bed, carefully tucked under her blanket with her eyes half lidded, Chris touches her cheek, and leans to kiss her good night.

 

Quietly, just above her ear, he tells her that he loves her deeply, with all of his heart, and that he shall always, always - do everything he can to be there for her and her siblings.

  
  
  
  
  


\------------------------

  
  
  
  
  


He closes the door behind him, rubbing the base of his palm into his eyes as he lingers in the hallway.

 

With measured steps Chris makes his way to their bedroom, and enters it wordlessly.

 

His wife is sitting on the bed, her laptop situated in her lap as she lifts her head to meet him.

 

“Hello,” he tells her, to which she answers the same.

 

He sits on the opposite side of the bed, running his eyes over her frame.

 

She’s a beautiful, respectable woman.

 

“Can we talk?” he asks her, his throat parched.

 

Elsa looks at him, and Chris’s soul shivers.

 

She removes the laptop from her lap, places on the floor next to the bed, and returns her attention to him.

 

“Are you going to tell me now?” she asks him, and Chris thinks that she already knows everything of anything.

 

He prepares himself, trying to calm his thoughts and his beating heart.

 

He does not feel much at the moment, sensations almost entirely numbed, and yet, despite the growing distance between them - he wants to tell her, to let her know.

 

With his body sensing strangely light and with a strong sense of thirst in his mouth, Chris nods carefully.

 

“Yes,” he tells her, his fingers flexing into a tight fist, “I am.”

  
  
  
  
  


\-----------@@@@@@@------------

  
  
  
  
  


The car stops next to the curb, and the commotion of photographers and reporters is already heard through the glass window.

 

Tom takes a deep breath, and after mental count to three - opens the vehicle’s door, and steps out of the car.

 

The media’s personnel crowds around him at once, maintained at a safe distance by the security staff, allowing Tom to walk towards the theater’s main entrance, where the ceremony shall take place tonight, his shoes striding on bright, lustrous red carpet.

 

“Tom, are you going to win your nomination tonight?” one of the reporters calls at him, reaching his hand holding a microphone as close to Tom as he can, and - 

 

“What about the future Tom? Will you stay in Europe or will you return to Hollywood?”

 

“What are your plans? Will you sign a contract for a second season of ‘Miles from home’ or will you return to the cinema?”

 

Tom replies them all with a polite smile, lead steadily by one of the production’s ushers.

 

He is being photographed a little later on, posing along with the actress and younger actor who carry the roles for Aiden’s wife and son, smiling and waving at the multiple cameras.

 

He descends the small stage shortly after, being called to the backstage for a few last touch ups as the ceremony is about to begin.

 

Inside the dressing rooms, Tom asks for a cup of water as the makeup lady retouches his face, when he sees a familiar figure waving at him from the doorstep.

 

_ Hey _ , Celine mouths at him with a smile, approaching him once the makeup lady is done with her share.

 

“Hey there,” Tom answers with a smirk, asking for another cup of water from the local staff.

 

Celine grins at him, reaching over to rearrange his tie, which is in already in order as it is.

 

“You look very handsome,” she says, “and I have a very good feeling about tonight, you know.”

 

Tom chuckles lightly, licking his lips.

 

“Thank you, you look great yourself,” he replies, drawing in some air as he looks around the large dressing room.

 

To her comment about the award, Tom finds that, once again, upon facing the image of success, he is not sure what to say.  

 

“We’ll see how it goes.”

  
  
  
  


\--------------

  
  
  
  


In his seat, Tom loosens the shirt collar around his neck.

 

The theater’s main hall is much larger than Tom had first thought it would be, its wide stage front surrounded by hundreds of seats for the audience and flooded with bright, at times colorful lights.

 

Tom is seated among his fellow actors, with Renly to his right, who is watching evening’s host inviting the anticipated award presenter with a content little grin.

 

“It’s yours, Tom, that shiny little trophy is about to go into your hands, I can feel it.”

 

Tom’s huff is his sole response to this claim, his palm continuously patting the seat’s armrest.

 

Everyone in his proximity seems to be so damn resilient about this award, so keen.

 

The announced presenter enters the stage through the curtains - a young, rather known actor whose name Tom cannot recall at the moment.

 

“Fair ladies and fine gentlemen, I hope you are excited as I am before we all learn who is the winner in one of tonight’s most interesting nominations - this year’s Britain’s greatest breakthrough in the fields of art and entertainment.”

 

The audience cheers to this, a few brassy whistles are heard as well, until the presenter, with a slick grin spread on his face, gestures the audience for silence.

 

“The recent year has prospered with numerous outstanding figures playing in striking television series and cinematic films, but only five of those people behind the characters, men and women, are nominated for the prize,-”

 

“And only one them of shall win it into his or her hands tonight.”

 

The presenter’s words send the desired thrill through the audience, and with another clever smile, the young man produces a golden envelope out of his trousers, shows it to the audience as a grand tease, then slowly opens it - and retrieves a bright, white paper out of it to the audience’s excited laughter.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, without any further introduction, let’s see who our special nominees are.”

 

The theater is appeased at this, everyone is expectant, and the presenter continues to the first name.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, our first nominee is a fine, beautiful lady, a personal friend of mine - Julie Conway!” 

 

Loud cheers are heard once again, and Conway’s photos and videos presenting her work are displayed on a large screen behind the young host.

 

The man once again gestures for silence, and moves on to the next nominee.

 

“The next nominee is a unique actor, artist, and a social activist, and so I’m very honored to present you with-”

 

The young man continues to read the nominees’ names, and when he is about to present the final nomination, while next to him Renly is grinning widely at the stage, Tom holds his breath.

 

Indeed, his name is to be read last.  

 

“Here it comes,” Renly mutters, and Tom presses his lips together, unable to respond.

 

The presenter smiles widely at the audience.

 

“My friends, our last nominee is someone you’ve probably heard of and seen with your own eyes on the both the small and big screen. This outstanding, unique actor, has been a part of multiple projects, some of them international blockbusters, along with smaller, rare ventures, all which state him as a man of many talents and skills - ladies and gentlemen, our last nominee is -”

 

Tom sets his jaws tightly together, his skin warming upon hearing those words describing him, his pictures flashing over the screen on the stage-

 

“It is, of course, no one else but Tom Hiddleston!”

 

The crowd cheers, some more excited whistles vibrate through, and Tom braces a smart, neat smile to his face, nodding at the cameras, aware of multiple pairs of eyes turning to watch him.

 

The presenter allows the crowd’s liveliness to last for a few moments, then calls again for their attention.

 

“And now, dear guests, for the moment of truth - and glory.”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner for this year’s Britain’s greatest breakthrough is-”

 

Tom hums low in his throat, almost noiselessly. 

 

He casts his gaze down then, staring at his flexed fingers, and exhales tenderly.

 

His heart is beating distantly within his chest, when a reserved, obscured voice flashes sacredly within Tom’s mind.

 

_ A clean cut?  _

 

Tom blinks at the stage, his fingers flex into a fist, and suddenly - he coughs.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen! Our winner is - Tom Hiddleston!” 

 

A clenched gasp escapes Tom’s lips, and he quickly wipes his mouth.

 

A joyous roar rises from the audience, and Tom’s colleagues whose seats are surrounding him, while clapping their hands, all rise to stand.

 

Instinctively, Tom stands up with them, and at once, he is embraced by Renly, who squeezes his shoulder tightly when they part.

 

“I told you boy, it’s yours!”

 

Momentarily speechless, Tom shakes his head from staring wordlessly at him, pulling a breathy smile to his lips.

 

Renly releases him, and Tom’s colleagues follow to embrace Tom as well, to pat his cheek playfully and clap his back with cheering coos.

 

Tom smiles at them all, thanking them in a low voice, until one of the production representatives waves at him, indicating that Tom should approach to the stage, and with a nod, Tom parts from his group of associates.

 

The audience is cheering, clapping their hands, and Tom waves at them, his blood pulsing as he nears the main setting.

 

_ I did it,- _ he tells himself while he is being photographed and filmed as he walks, _ I won. _

 

Tom climbs the stairs to the stage, and the presenter greets him with a handshake composed with a bright smile-

 

And hands Tom a golden trophy - of a man holding a small globe in both of his palms.

 

“Congratulations, Tom,” the young man tells him, while, in the heat of the moment, Tom stares at the prize placed in his hands.

 

“Yes, thank you,” Tom murmurs, his forehead creasing as his eyes roam over the shiny object.

 

“Give them people a few words, would you champ,” the presenter asks, and Tom nods, inclining his head to look at the podium.

 

“Yeah,” he tells him, turning to walk towards the intended wooden stand, “absolutely.”

 

The audience cheers intensify as he nears the podium, and Tom waves back with a smile. 

 

The crowd’s applause calm almost at once when he comes to stand in front of the microphone, and Tom Inhales deeply, watching the multiple viewers as he prepares his words.

 

He runs his eyes over the theater, the cameras flashing at him as he holds his prize, while the crowd is waiting for his voice. 

 

Tom licks his lips, and opens his mouth to speak.

 

_ So, you are the winner. _

 

The bright light coming from the theater’s ceiling suddenly blinds him, and Tom blinks, clearing his throat.

 

He gathers his focus.

 

“Dear audience,” he starts-,

_ You have women- _

 

“It is nothing short of a great privilege to be standing here in front of you tonight.”

 

_ You have money- _

 

“There are dozens of wonderful people who work behind the stage to make these films and television shows-”

 

_ An illustrious apartment all to yourself- _

 

“And I wish to thank them first.”

 

_ And now, a famed little statue of triumph in your hands.  _

 

“They are doing a great, around the clock job,-”

 

_ Well, Thomas. _

 

“-letting all the magic happen,” he finishes, licking his lips.

 

_ Are you feeling… Strong? _

 

Tom frowns, swallowing down before he continues.

 

“And I wish to thank my beloved family as well, who has always been there for me throughout the entire way-”

 

Tom pauses for a moment, regarding the numerous, unfamiliar faces sitting in the crowd, his eyes hopefully looking to recognize someone specific, one man in particular, but they only manage to acknowledge Tom’s colleagues, Renly and Celine as well, who is looking at him with a small smile, Tom and her have been going out with each other for two, or was it three weeks, Tom cannot remember anymore-

 

“I am very happy to be here, you are all wonderful-,.”

 

Tom steps away from the podium, and bows deeply.

 

_ Is this, all of this… Is this power? _

 

With a quiet sigh, he closes his eyes.

 

“Thank you.”

  
  
  
  


\------------

  
  
  
  


Later, they all go to celebrate.

  
  
  
  


\-------------

  
  
  


“One, two,-” Paul calls with a sloppy grin,- 

 

“Bottoms up!”

 

Along with some friends and colleagues, Tom lifts his glass from the wooden, by now rumpled table, and lets the whiskey slide into his mouth, the golden liquid stinging his throat and gradually warming up his stomach.

 

The glasses are all lowered back to the table with a deep thud, and hoots and howls of delight and hilarity are heard, congratulating Tom, along with some bawdy banters thrown at his way.

 

Tom answers them all with some rowdy smiles, groaning when more slaps land on his back.

 

The table’s conversation resumes soon after, and Tom laughs at his mate’s jokes, contributes some of his own humour, and after awhile - leans back in his chair, and watches.

 

The club is rather crowded with people tonight, and Tom blinks lazily, the alcohol slowing his senses and body.

 

His prize is located right at the middle of the table, like a peculiar ivory tower among patched, emptied alcohol glasses.

 

Tom stares at the trophy, his thoughts in his alcohol glazed mind easily detaching themselves from the ongoing chat.

 

The man holding the little globe remains perfectly still throughout noisy conversation, but at times, when Tom lowers his glass to the table, with the Whiskey still burning his tongue - the statue glints under the club’s lights, as if smiling crookedly at Tom.

 

_ Successful, _ Tom muses, and closes his eyes, touching his fingertips to the bridge of his nose.

 

“You in for another shot, Tom?” 

 

Tom squints his eyes open at Paul’s voice.

 

“You in mate?” he asks him, his wicked grin too dazzling.

 

From the far corner of the table, Tom catches Celine watching him with a smile as she converses with one of her friends.

 

She winks at him, and on an impulse, Tom winks at her in return.

 

“No,” he croaks dryly at Paul, then clears his throat for his voice.

 

“No,” he repeats, “and in fact, lads,” he informs his table mates wearily, his own speech coming off as a sluggish, slow slur to his ears, “I’m gonna make a little trip to the-”

 

Tom staggers a little as his rises heavily from his seat.

 

“The men’s room,” he finishes inelegantly, his eyes fluttering when a wave of lightheadedness muddles his mind once he stands on his feet.

 

“So soon Tommy?” one of the other men taunts, but Tom ignores him, suddenly eager to be alone.

 

He needs to make some effort in order to keep his strides straightforward, bumping his shoulder here and there along the way, but eventually he reaches the men’s room, sighing with relief when he closes the door behind him, granting Tom the privacy of the small booth.

 

Tom relieves himself, then steps over to the small sink, washing his hands under the chilly water.

 

He does not dare to look himself in the mirror, and once his palms are clean, he leans his weight over the small sink, his head bowed and his eyes closed, breathing slowly as the noises of the club are distant enough.

 

“Chris, you bastard,” Tom heaves quietly, his fingers gripping the cool marble.

 

“How I wish you were here,” he whispers, eyes tightly closed and shoulders drawn together.

 

“You should have been there, sitting next to me,” Tom says, moisture gathering below his eyelids, his speech no longer slurring.

 

“I would have made some cheeky comment into your ear about that hideous, foolishly pompous presenter, and you would have chuckled, trying to cover your smiling lips with your palm.”

 

Tom shakes his head, smiling tightly to himself.

 

“I would have held your hand then, placed my head on your shoulder, then-”

 

Tom pauses, swallowing thickly.

 

“Then told you how beautiful you are when you laugh.”

 

Tom opens his eyes, lifting his head to look at the rugged mirror.

 

A tear escapes through, cooling down quickly as it glides over his cheek, then another.

 

“It’s hard, being here without you,” he murmurs, watching the pale skin of his face and the few tears glistening over his cheeks.

 

Tom shakes his head, wiping the dampness away, and turns from the sink to dry his hands near by.

 

He opens the creaky door, takes a deep breath, and leaves the small booth behind him.

  
  
  
  


\---------------

  
  


Back in the semi lit hall leading back to the club, Tom blinks against the flowing light.

 

He is reaching to his cheek, the salt of his previous tears sensing itchy, when a feminine voice calls his name.

 

“Hey there,” Celine says, walking towards him until they meet, her hands sliding up his chest, wrapping around Tom’s neck.

 

“Is everything ok?”

 

Tom nods lightly, letting his hands go to the lady’s waist.

 

His mind and body are utterly drained, exhausted.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

Celine smiles at him, rising on her toes to kiss his lips.

 

“It’s late, baby,” she tells him, “How about we head to your place next?”

 

She has consumed a fair amount of alcohol tonight, just as Tom has, and her perfume scent is sweetened with some wine’s odour.

 

In truth, Tom does not wish to see more of any of his friends or colleagues tonight. He’s had enough.

 

“Ok,” he says gently, thoughts of his bedroom from his previous flat in America suddenly appearing in his mind’s eyes.

 

“Alright.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
  
  
  
  
  


Celine asks one of her friends to drive them home, and Tom agrees with no further comment. 

 

He does not trust himself or Celine not to rumble anything stupid to some unfamiliar taxi driver along the way.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


\--------------

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Inside his bedroom,Tom loosens his tie, stretching his neck from side to side.

 

He changes his clothes into a simple pair of short sweatpants, while behind him Celine is removing her clothes as well.

 

He sits on his bed, running his hand through his hair, his thoughts oozing along with his drunken state, when a pair of delicate hands land on his shoulders, drawing him backwards over to lie on his back.

 

"I told you I had a good feeling about tonight," Celine tells him, kissing his chest, her fingers toying with his pants laces.

 

"Yeah," Tom replies, his mind foggy, lifting his waist without thinking when he feels his under garments being pulled down.

 

Distantly, Tom considers refusing her, he feels so tired, detached, but his refusal fades when, at once, warm lips wrap around him.

 

With his arms thrown on the bed, Tom stares at the ceiling as Celine takes him into her mouth, his breath deep and even.

 

He arches his back and curves his waist at times, until he's simply had enough, and he urges Celine to stop, drawing her to his side.

 

He reaches to touch her, to pleasure her, but she halts his attempts, looking at him through her half lidded eyes.

 

"I want you," she says, rising to her elbows.

 

Swallowing down, Tom nods his agreement.

 

He moves to a sitting position with a grunt, his head pounding after rising too fast, pulling the blanket to partially cover his body against the cold of the night.

 

He reaches to the drawer, feeling for the packet of condoms, when his fingers meet what feels like an old, small paper bag, and Tom pauses at once.

 

Carefully, with his breath held, Tom holds onto the ragged packet, and pulls it out of the drawer into his lap, letting the bag slowly unwrap between his fingers.

 

The golden horse glints under the gentle light, and Tom bites his lip, running his thumb over its beautiful mane and body.

 

_ Oh, Chris, darling,  _ Tom muses, his thoughts suddenly flowing in perfect order.

 

_ I’m so sorry- _

 

He remembers Chris’s touch, gentle and fierce at the same time, his captivating coyness-

 

_ I’m so sorry for calling you a coward-  _

 

“My prince,” Tom murmurs inaudibly, his forehead creasing-

 

“What’s this?” Celine’s voice rattles him, and Tom blinks sharply, closing his fingers around the delicate jewel immediately.

 

“It’s a gift I got for my last birthday,” he hears himself saying, returning the horse to its safe place inside the drawer and fishing for a condom instead.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Celine comments as Tom guides her to lie on her back, “Who gave it to you?”

 

Tom swallows as he climbs into between her legs, the man’s name burning on his tongue-

 

“The sweetest person I have ever met,” he says, bending to kiss her at once to prevent any further questions.

 

He takes her slowly, wordlessly, his mouth pressed to her shoulder and his eyes closed.

 

She climaxes soon enough, clenching around him, and Tom follows her moments later, a silent moan parting his lips.

 

They lie next to each other afterwards, with Celine draped at his side, her arm resting on his stomach.

 

“Mmm, you’re tired, huh,” she mutters, her breath falling into a measured, moderate pace as she sleeps.

 

Tom, with her head tucked under his, gazes at the black night sky for as long as he manages to keep his eyes open.

 

He can’t tell for how long he remains awake like this, but when he is about to surrender to his overwhelming fatigue, Tom gently moves Celine to her own side of bed, and lies on his side, staring at her as she sleeps.

 

She’s a pretty, good, nice girl.

 

“I’m in love with another,” he tells her.

  
  
  
  
  


\------------------------------------

  
  
  
  
  
  


When Tom opens his eyes again, the night is just past its peak.

 

He inclines forward to leans on his elbows, then rolls over to a sitting position, squinting at the mattress through the darkness.

 

Celine is still there, lying next to him, soundly asleep.

 

Stretching his neck, Tom clumsily hauls himself out of the bed, moaning as his head still pulses with the leftovers of alcohol in his blood.

 

Dragging his fingertips over his slightly damp forehead, Tom walks out of the bedroom, his steps uneven on his way to the kitchen.

 

He empties two cups of water into his stomach almost too quickly, then shuffles into the living room until he clumsily seats himself on the first couch he finds.

 

He is about to lower his face into his palms, pausing when he catches sight of his trophy, placed on the coffee table in front of him, now black instead of gold under the dark of night.

 

How did it get to stand so proudly in the middle of the living room, Tom has no idea. He scarcely remembers placing it on the sofa after closing the door behind him earlier on.

 

He gives the statue one lingering look, then resumes his initial intention and lowers his face into his hands with a low moan.

 

He hardly moves for long moments, sitting very still in the middle of this large apartment while breathing into his palms.

 

Eventually, Tom lies back on the sofa, and reaches with his arm to the table, fumbling for his cellphone.

 

He looks at the screen with his eyes narrowed into small slits, and dials when he finds the right contact.

 

“Tom?” comes a worried answer all too all too quickly, causing Tom to blink in surprise.

 

“Emma,” he breathes, “yeah, yeah it’s me,” he mumbles.

 

A distant rustle of cloth is heard, probably of sheets and linens.

 

“My god, Tom, what time is it? Are you ok?”

 

Tom lets his arm fall over his eyes.

 

“I’m fine, I won that prize and I’m fine,” Tom rumbles, “Emmy, tell me-”

 

“Do you remember dad telling us to be practical with life when necessary, and make a clean cut?”

 

Emma stammers a little.

 

“W-what?” she begins, “Tom, what are you-, I mean, well, yes, I do, so? What about it?”

 

“Well,-” Tom tells her, his thoughts crawling along with his tipsiness.

 

“I tried it, and it- it doesn’t make sense to me,-”

 

“I am the one who ended up being cut,” he says and falters for a moment, “and it’s definitely not clean, you know?”

 

“Tom, I’m not following, where are you?” Emma demands, worried.

 

“I’m in my overly large apartment, the one that everybody likes so much,” he replies, removing his arm from his face.

 

“And - do you remember how he used to tell us that time heals everything?”

 

To this, at first, Emma is quiet.

 

“Yeah, I do,” she says finally, and for no logical reason, Tom chuckles.

 

“Well, you know what,-” 

 

Tom pauses, his smile fading as he swallows down past the thickness in his throat.

 

_ Britain’s greatest breakthrough, trying to forget with the help of alcohol -  a drunkard. _

 

“That one doesn’t seem to work out for me either,” he mutters, staring absently at the long hall, though he can’t see his bedroom at its end.

“Tommy sweetheart, brother,” his sister calls softly, “You won the prize,-”

 

“What happened?”

 

Tom lets his eyes fall shut.

 

“I’m sorry I was rude to you when we last talked Emm,-”

 

“I’m ready, ok?”

 

He’s a winner, and his heart is broken.

 

“I’m ready to talk.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> * Intense thoughts, behaviors, and psychological concepts.  
> * Some profanity and consumption of alcohol.  
> * Beyond platonic dynamics between one of the main characters to a minor one.


	29. The Lost Passenger - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still, a man hears what he wants to hear - and disregards the rest.
> 
> [ Simon & Garfunkel - The Boxer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3LFML_pxlY)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone :)
> 
> Yes, I too thought this chapter was going to turn out much, much shorter :)
> 
> Special warnings for this chapter - none :) 
> 
> I've said it before, but I'll say it again - Your comments are wonderful. You are making this story happen.  
> Thank you so, so much :)

When the soft knock comes, Howard rises from his seat and heads to the door.

 

“Come in,” he invites his guest into the living room.

 

A little more than an hour ago, Howard received a phone call from Chris, brisk and short.

 

_ ‘Can I stop by for a short visit?’  _ was Chris’s sole question after a terse greeting, to which didn’t refuse.

 

After everything Chris had shared with him, Howard believes he understands.

 

“Thank you,” Chris replies and follows Howard’s invitation into the apartment.

 

As Chris takes his place on one of the couches in the living room, Howard heads into the kitchen.

 

He eyes his small alcohol cabinet for a moment, but rejects the option almost at once.

 

Chris stares wordlessly at the apple juice Howard offers him instead, but eventually accepts it with an quiet ‘thank you’.

 

Howard picks the nearby sofa for himself, and patiently nurses his drink as Chris takes his time.

 

From his seat on the couch, Chris empties his cup, and leans forward to place it back on the coffee table with a mild clank.

 

“I spoke to her,” he says after a while, so faintly Howard almost fails to hear it.

 

He considers Chris’s statement, and sets to to refill the man’s cup with more juice.

 

“You did?”

 

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs, taking the cup from Howard, but reveals no further information.

 

“How did it go?” he asks, trying to coax Chris into saying more.

 

Chris runs his fingers absently over the glass’s brim.

 

“As one would expect, I suppose.”

 

“Elsa is far from dumb, and I’m-, have always been, really, - a poor liar,” he murmurs, his forehead creased warily.

 

“She was already aware of some of the things I told her. ”

 

Chris gazes down at his cup, thoughtful.

 

“She cried a little, though.” 

 

“Hmm,” Howard mutters to himself.

 

“And you?” he asks, drawing Chris’s eyes to him, “Did you cry?”

 

Chris watches him for a moment, then lowers his gaze again.

 

“No, I did not.”

 

“I see,” Howard says, and decides to leave the issue at that. The man probably showed up in his apartment in search for some company and comfort, certainly not to be interrogated.

 

“I think you did well, Chris,” Howard tells him plainly, “I really do.”

 

Chris turns to look at him, hands resting on his knees, cradling his cup.

 

“Thank you for letting me come here on such a short notice,” he says. 

 

“Thanks for… everything.”

 

Howard smiles at him.

 

“You’re welcome. I’m honored to be the one you choose to share this with.”

 

Chris chuckles at this, sheepish.

 

“You are?” he murmurs, running his fingers through his hair.

 

They don’t say much to each other after this, and somewhat later, when Howard returns from the kitchen in order to ask Chris whether he’d like something to eat, he finds the man huddled over the couch, asleep.

 

Howard smirks to himself, he’s quite fond of this guy, this Chris, and walks quietly back to the kitchen, mindful of his steps. 

 

With how he’d perceived Chris to be so reserved at first, Howard had never thought they’d discover any special communication with each other.

 

Howard smiles. 

 

Mark would have probably found this amusing, too.

  
  
  
  


\-------------------

  
  
  
  


Tom sits down on the bed, in the middle of his childhood bedroom.

 

A late afternoon sun shines through the window, spilling gentle white light over the floor, causing the room to look, and even smell like it did when Tom was a young teenager.

 

There are only two postcards left glued to the wall above the pillow, the rest of them are tucked inside the cupboard next to Tom’s nowadays bed, and Tom watches them quietly, his mind wandering.

 

When the door creases open Tom starts, torn from his thoughts, and he stands up to meet his sister.

 

It felt like the right thing to do, to have this conversation here, in their parents’ house, and speak face to face.

 

“Tom,” Emma greets him with a smile and a kiss to his cheek.

 

“Hey,” he smiles in return, letting her pull him into an especially close hug.

 

“I was worried about you,” Emma mutters next to Tom’s ear, and Tom chuckles, rubbing her back reassuringly.

 

“I’m fine Emmy, honest,” he says lightly, embarrassed at how flustered he must have sounded over his last phone conversation with his sister.

 

After they break their embrace, Emma chooses to sit on one of the chairs in the room facing Tom, while Tom reclaims his seat over the bed, his posture growing somewhat rigid as he prepares himself.

 

“How are you then?” Emma asks him. 

 

Tom presses his lips into a taut, thin line, and, uncomfortable in his seat, he leans his elbows over his knees.

 

For long moments, he stares at his steepled hands, trying in his mind for the hundredth time to find the proper way to begin.

 

He glances at his sister, and he finds her watching him expectantly.

 

“You were drunk when you called me two nights ago, weren’t you,” she says finally when he fails to come up with the right words.

 

Tom holds her stare. He didn’t think this question would be the opening one to their discussion, but he accepts it.

 

“Yes, I was,” he tells her, not without shame.  

 

Emma’s eyes search Tom’s face, her expression squared with apprehension.

 

“What happened?” she asks.

 

“This is about her, isn’t it, that girl you dated in the US.”

 

With a low sigh, Tom runs his hands through his hair, sensing nervous, remembering just how easily this lie slipped out of his lips all those months ago. 

 

Tom turns to look at Emma again, swallowing thickly.

 

He knows why he had been dishonest with her about this, he hadn’t been ready to tell her back then, yet right now, he feels like a fool.

 

“It is not her,” he says slowly, his body stiffening even further, “but him.”

 

For moments, Emma stares at him, her eyes not leaving Tom’s.

 

“Him?” 

 

Tom nods fixedly at her, his breath caught in his throat.

 

Emma parts her lips, her forehead slowly creasing.

 

“Tom, I-” she starts, “I didn’t know you are interested in men.”

 

A short, shaky laugh bursts out of Tom’s mouth at this.

 

“Me neither,” he mutters, a flutter running through his chest.

 

_ How he’d moved me, you’d never believe. _

 

“He is quite special,” Tom says quietly.

 

“Tom,” Emma says gingerly, through a timid smile, “I had no idea.”

 

“Yeah,” Tom nods, inhaling deeply before he continues.

 

“You know him, too,” he reveals, causing Emma’s eyebrows to travel up her forehead.

 

“I know him?-”

 

“Who?” 

 

Tom looks at her, his fingers gathering the linens at his side.

 

He has to tell her,  _ needs  _ to tell her, and he is longing for her support.

 

“It’s… It’s Chris,” he says while his sister is watching him.

 

“Chris - Hemsworth.”

 

Emma narrows her eyes, once again searching Tom’s face for any misunderstandings.

 

“Chris?” She half whispers at Tom, her frown deepening even further.

 

“Tom, isn’t he-” she starts, but pauses mid sentence.

 

“Married, yes,” Tom completes her intention, his jaws squaring in instinctive defensiveness.

 

Emma parts her lips in a silent question, her face pinched thoughtfully.

 

“You two are… involved?”

 

Tom grinds his teeth uneasily.

 

Though he wants to share this with her, so much, these matters are so personal, so raw within him.

 

“This is it, this is what’s been bothering you, am I right? For a long time now.”

 

Tom sighs audibly, dipping his head down while massaging his neck.

 

His first instinct is to leave the room, abort this conversation, but he remembers those moments - when he stood in front of the crowd with his prize in hand, smiling as one of the peak moments of his career was taking place, all while that haunting voice was gripping him from within.

 

“Tell me Tom, please,-”

 

“I won’t judge you.”

 

Tom lifts his gaze to his sister.

 

She is the first person to show any evidence of positive reaction to his happenings with Chris, and not to throw Tom’s faults into his face then condemn them out loud.

 

“You haven’t heard anything yet,” he tells her with doubtful smile, but Emma shakes her head at him.

 

“Whatever it is, I have no intention to judge you for it. Please - tell me. How did this come to be?”

 

Tom nods at her, then turns to look at the room’s window, thinking just how to answer such question.

 

He takes a deep breath before he begins.

 

“I’m not- I mean, I don’t really know how it all started,” he says, his eyes narrowing as he tries to remember.

 

“We were on good terms with each other, friends- I suppose, and-”

 

Tom shakes his head, the smallest of smiles tingling his lips.

 

“He was one of the good guys, you know? Humble, kind, always sparing a good word to his peers - and at some point, I realized he was more than just nice looking.”

 

Tom pauses, a certain event returning to him, one he’d wondered about more than a few times.

 

“One day, Chris had found out that an old friend of his has gotten sick with cancer. He went to visit the man in the hospital, and I-, I joined him for that trip.”

 

Tom hesitates for a moment, his thoughts flowing.

 

“I never - I mean, I didn’t dare to do anything about these thoughts I had about him. I didn’t want to let those inclinations get to me, because - he was married, he has kids,-”

 

“But, ever since that day, that visit to Chris’s friend - Things had begun to… Change.”

 

Was that day in the hospital the critical junction of their relationship? The point of time when things have started to change between them?

 

“After that night, Chris - he became more thoughtful, withdrawn-, there was something different about his demeanor- and with how he behaved around me as well.”

 

Another smile breaks over Tom’s lips, stiff yet irresistible, almost wide enough to show some of his teeth this time.

 

“He started taking me home sometimes, driving me back to my apartment at the end of a working day, he - he even took me out to dinner one time-,”

 

Tom glances at his sister, and finds her looking back at him, the gentlest of smiles gracing her own lips as well - and his face flushes red.

 

He had only recently come to admit to his deeper feelings for Chris, but that certain night they had shared in that dingy little pub - Tom suspects he has loved Chris ever since that night, ever since Chris had paid for their dinner, and later laid his palm over Tom’s lower back as he lead them both to his car.

 

And as Tom shares these memories for the first time, he realizes that this visit to the hospital, it wasn’t really the turning point of their relationship, at least not for Tom.

 

He had wanted Chris long before that day.

 

“And then, one night, after a party I arranged in my apartment - he stayed over and - it simply happened. We… kissed.”

 

Tom inhales deeply, licking his lips before he continues.

 

“We slept with each other a few times since then, even spent two nights together, and shared a few encounters over the course of a few months.”

 

Tom goes quiet after this, staring down at the floor as an unexpected sense of quiescence flows through his old bedroom.

 

“And you’ve stopped seeing him, right? Chris remained in America,” his sister urges him gently, ”How did that happen?”

 

Tom wonders about this, kneading his palms together.

 

“We had a conversation, or rather- a confrontation, before I left. He said he didn’t know how to handle what was going on between us, that he wasn’t not sure if and when he would finally be able to tell the truth to his wife,-”

 

“And that homosexuality isn’t easy for him.” he finishes tightly.

 

“After that - I did as I’d told you. I decided to leave, to do what’s right for me and my career - and move on.”

 

Tom stares at his molding palms, his forehead creasing in somber thought.

 

“I haven’t spoken to him ever since.”

 

A deep, solemn sigh escapes him, discussing this is far from easy, and when his sister shifts in her chair, Tom hardly notices her movement.

 

“So, what now?” Emma asks, “I mean, what’s going on with you now?”

 

Tom huffs an irritated gasp, his teeth plying his lower lip.

 

“What’s going on is that I am doing what is best for me,-” he says, shaking his head, “but this best simply does not feel as it should.”

 

“I have everything Emm, everything. I have a beautiful girlfriend, I am wealthy, this role that I am doing meets my expectations, the audience finds me interesting - yet I’m not… I’m not happy. I’m never, never satisfied.”

 

Tom taps his fist on the bed, chuckling breathlessly as his anger and frustration break through.

 

“I can have any woman I want Emm, any woman,” he says, looking sharply at his sister,-

 

“-Perhaps even any man - for all that matters - but my thoughts are after him.”

 

Tom finishes with a deep exhale, his chest rising and falling along with his bitter excitement.

 

His sister is looking at him patiently, her eyes attentive and wary as she listens to Tom.

 

“Well,” she says after a while, obviously weighing Tom’s newly revealed story in her mind, “this is- quite overwhelming indeed.”

 

Tom snorts at this.

 

He touches his fingertips to his eyes, the air of resentment knocked out of his lungs at once.

 

“You think so,” he mutters under his breath.

 

He’s not sure what more can his sister possibly say to this tale of his, and yet - he’s yearned to share this with her for so long, ever since she’s first asked him about Chris - even though Emma was entirely unaware of doing so at that time. 

 

“I never thought it would get this far, you know?” he tells her, his voice small. 

 

“I remember myself believing that my affections for him would disappear should I sleep with him, that I would be able to satisfy my curiosity and move on as if nothing had happened- but as the days moved on I came to learn that fate was probably having a good laugh while I was devising those schemes of mine,” Tom says through a glum smile.

 

“After the first time we shared intimacy, I tried to maintain some silence between us, catch some distance from him, but this attraction to him wouldn’t fade.”

 

“I dated this girl for months, Emma, months, and while being with her, I used to be wondering when will I and Chris see each other again. At times I even canceled dates with her - just so I would be able to spend more time with him.”

 

Tom furrows his eyebrows together. Still, after all this time, he is unable to wholly put what had transpired between him and Chris into words.

 

“There was this something about him, I can’t really explain it, something that constantly drew my attention and made me feel good around him at the same time,-”

 

Tom catches Emma’s eyes again, fascinated with the revelation itself and the sensation of sharing this deep secret with her.

 

“He used to call me, compliment me, buy me all kinds of gifts, he insisted on paying for me on every occasion he chanced upon - and I…”

 

An uncontrollable, coy laugh escapes him, and Tom senses his face reddening as he speaks.

 

“It’s like he was.... Courting me,” he says slowly, through a flattered smile, “and I was being… pursued.”

 

“I’ve never felt like that before,” Tom murmurs, almost to himself, remembering.

 

Bringing his arms behind his head for support, Tom carefully lies back on his bed, his old mattress somewhat wooden beneath him, but just as warm and comforting as it used to be.

 

Gazing up at the blank ceiling, tender emotions brought up by the memories flow through his body and mind.

 

“He was… so gentle, always gentle and kind, even while we were arguing.”

 

“It took me, Emm, I tried to fight it for the longest time, but it was a lost cause… I was taken with him.”

 

Closing his eyes, Tom inhales deeply, and brings his arm to cover his face as he breathes.

 

_ There, she knows all of it. _

 

Moments pass in mutual silence, and after a while Tom flexes his palm against a shiver that runs through him, wondering if his sister is about to respond with rejection, to disapprove  everything he’d just shared with her.

 

When he hears Emma rising from her chair and finally coming to sit next to him on the bed, Tom prepares himself for whatever she might say.

 

“Brother,” his sister says very gently, touching his arm so Tom will reveal his face.

 

“If you want him, why don’t you go to him?”

 

Tom’s body stiffens almost at once.

 

He removes his arm from his face, turning to look straight into Emma’s eyes.

 

“Do you remember what I told you he said to me?” he asks her.

 

“Why should I go to him if he is not sure? If he’s afraid of spending time with me?”

 

Emma blinks at him, taking in Tom’s sudden change in demeanour. 

 

“Well,” his sister says, trying to explain herself, “It seems to me that he is rather unsure of what’s going on, of how to maneuver the situation, and… well, not really confident, but,-”

 

Emma looks at him expectantly, now gripping his arm.

 

“All of this can be changed Tom, you know? Perhaps you two, with some patience, can work things out.”

 

Tom stares at her, his eyes slowly narrowing at her words.

 

“Do you know how it feels to constantly play as a second wheel to someone’s wife? To constantly be unable to feel satisfied with the fortune I’ve worked for?”

 

He draws himself back into a sitting position, annoyed by her suggestion that he should be the one to go and chase after Chris.

 

“This... notorious tale, this so called endeavor has- changed me, Emma, do you realize this? I’ve changed, I’m different from whom I used to be -”

 

“I tend to be more- pensive, even sensitive, sometimes I feel myself insecure, contemplating choices that used to be so easy to make, so obvious, such as accepting this role in France or not,-”

 

Tom swallows, the memory of that damned cough seizing him just before he was announced as a winner flashing in his mind’s eye.

 

“My own body rebels me when I don’t grant it what it wants with Chris,” he says, and pauses.

 

This, perhaps, is the most mystifying aspect of all.

 

“I cough and I shiver with cold, as if I am being- punished,-” 

 

“Why should I go back to that constant uncertainty?” 

 

Emma returns his stare, clearly undeterred.

 

For moments, her eyes seem to analyze Tom’s face, until she cocks her and speaks.

 

“Is this how you used to behave around him?” she asks, “The same way you are now?”

 

Tom blinks at her, confused.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

Emma inspects him from head to waist, a frown shaping over her face.

 

“I remember it now, that day we talked about Chris for the first time in that shopping mall,”  she says slowly.

 

“You behaved so protectively, so guarded while we were discussing him, just as you are doing now,” she tells him, making Tom pause.

 

“I believe I offered you to be nice to him, be patient, and now I remember why,” she recalls, observing Tom closely as she speaks.

 

Tom presses his tongue to his teeth, breaking their eye contact as he suddenly feels a need to defend himself.

“It’s true, I wasn’t always soft with him, but-” Tom mutters through his tightly pursed lips,-

 

He’d said so much already, he might as well tell her everything,-

 

“I told him I love him Emma, ok?” he sputters, his face flushing with heat, “and he never said the same to me in return.”

 

Emma raises a doubtful eyebrow at him, crossing her arms over chest.

 

“Well Tom, did you even give him a fair chance to?”

 

Tom shakes his head again, his face pinched in growing annoyance.

 

_ Give him a chance? _

 

“Give him a chance?” he asks her, “What do you mean?”

His sister clicks her tongue at him.

 

“Have you ever told him you want to be with him at all? That you want more than these- encounters?” 

 

“Do you not see it?” she asks, “Every time we discuss him Tom, every time,-you become defensive and wary, almost at once.”

 

“You said earlier that you two sat down to talk to each other before you decided to leave, but you named it a confrontation, not a conversation.”

 

Emma leans closer to him, and, as if being caught red handed, Tom’s body tenses in response.

 

“If you had behaved around him as I suspect you did, as if he is your opponent, or even as a threat, then no wonder Chris has kept his feelings to himself.”

 

“A man has to trust you-, especially if he’s shy as you say Chris is, before he reveals his heart to you.”

 

Tom wants to reply, to say something in return, but he can’t help but simply look at his sister.

 

_ A coward I called him, and a self centered bastard,- _

 

_ But- he made me feel so- weak-, _

 

“Why don’t you try again?” Emma implores him, touching his arm, “If he said he’s willing to speak to his wife about this, then maybe- maybe you can help him and make it happen-”

 

Tom chuckles breathlessly, stammering as he finds himself wrangling for some proper response.

 

Does she really think it’s that simple?  

 

“So that’s it? You think I should simply go to him? Leave everything I’ve worked for, leave this good part I’m leading just so I could be with him?”

 

Emma blinks slowly at him.

 

“No,” she states plainly, then turns on her seat to face the window.

 

“What can I say, forget what I think. By all means Tom, go back." 

 

“Go back to your stylish apartment, to your prestigious role.”

 

At once, Tom goes quiet.

 

His sister frowns at the window, her lips pursed.

 

“You are a slick, skillful actor, that I know well, and eventually, you’ll win any prize they tease you with, even that Oscar, I’m thinking.” 

Emma peeks at him, her eyes thoughtful.

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

Tom returns her look, his throat working as Emma’s words silence him.

 

_ No, no… It’s not it, that’s not what I want. _

 

This apartment he lives in feels so large, so blank, no matter how many friends and acquaintances he invites over.

 

“This- this unhappiness you are talking about, it’s not happening because of Chris, you realize that, don’t you?”

 

“You hardly agree to admit your own feelings, let alone discuss them, and what’s worse - you are behaving as if you are trying to rip them out of your chest.”

 

“You want this man, Chris, but instead of him, you continuously offer your body some pretty replacements in shapes of women you are barely fond of - and when you feel absolutely nothing with this forced intimacy - you warm your belly with some alcohol to forget all about it -  that’s exactly how it goes, isn’t it?”

 

Tom grinds his jaws, feeling brutally exposed when one after another, his most infamous acts are put on such a blunt display.

 

“So after all of this,” Emma asks him, her face ferocious with intent, “After all this crude dishonesty directed your own self, why shouldn’t your body betray you in return?”

 

Tom opens his mouth to speak, he almost asks his sister to stop, but only a short gasp comes through his lips instead.

 

He runs his fingers through his hair with a terse sigh, and Emma reaches to touch his knee. 

 

“I am not very familiar with Chris, not at all really, but I do know you, and I think you are far more emotionally involved with him than you had planned to be.”

 

To this, Tom finally grunts under the scrutinizing analysis.

 

“But, how do you know this,-” he mutters under his breath,- “What makes you so sure-”

 

“-And I think it hurts your ego and scares you to your bones,” his sister disregards his mutterings. 

 

“Oh, Emma,” Tom moans, but Emma squeezes his knee a little harder.

 

“Look Tom, finally, finally we get to talk, and I won’t pamper you with sweet talking which shall only make things worse in the long run.” she insists. 

 

“I don’t want to receive another phone call from you while you are lost and wasted in the middle of the night again, nor can I stand seeing you so quiet and thoughtful during dinner anymore. I simply have to say this to you.”

 

“I don’t know much about Chris, but from the little I know and see, I think he’s a good, intelligent man who challenges you, he is not one of your fans nor one of those smitten women who effortlessly trail after you, and perhaps, for the first time in your life - you are not the stronger part of the relationship’s equation.”

 

“Being with him does not mean leaving everything behind. You will find a worthy role to match your expectations anywhere Tom, anywhere, not because those professional executives will kindly agree to grant you an opportunity to join their lines, but because you are good in what you do.” 

 

“You earned this role now, and you will be able to get your hands on any future part you shall desire.”

 

Tom lowers his gaze to the floor, wordless, and Emma gently squeezes his shoulder.

 

“I know that this choice to be with him may not be easy, but it is possible Tom, it really is.”

 

“And besides,” she says, her tone suddenly lighter, “the alternatives are such a bummer, aren’t they.”

 

This catches Tom’s attention, and he turns to look at her, finding her smiling gently at him.

 

She said so much, and Tom - is overwhelmed.

 

“Do you find this amusing?” he asks her, sensing tired.

 

Ever relentless, Emma winks at him.

 

“I find that he’s cuter than all these girls you spend your time with,” Emma says, obviously smug with her opinion.

 

Tom tries to contain himself, but eventually a small chuckle escapes him.

 

“You are a sappy fangirl, that’s what you are,” he mutters, and rises to his feet then, his palms sliding into his pockets, and goes to lean his shoulder on the wall.

 

Through the window, Tom sees the sun as it begins to set into the horizon, and the sky slowly gains their pink blush along with its slow descent.

 

He feels offended, practically angry at his sister for throwing such harsh criticism at him.

 

He stares at the mostly green view seen from his windows, and suddenly but not unexpectedly, he remembers someone else from his past who was ruthless with him as well.

 

“This girl I dated, the one I mentioned earlier,” he begins softly.

 

“Yeah, I remember,” Emma answers from behind.

 

“She was one of the sharper pencils around, and she figured it out eventually, about me and Chris, that is.”

 

Tom licks his lips, his eyes narrowing at the piercing memory.

 

“One day, she confronted me about the subject, and she told me,-” 

 

“She told me that I’m a fool for waiting for him, for ever wanting him to begin with, and that Chris has me wrapped around his little finger.”

 

Tom extracts his hand from his pocket, and bumps his fist against the wall with a low thump.

 

“I was angry. And humiliated,” he sneers.

 

“She did it, she hit home, and ever since, I wanted Chris to chase me, to feel as confused and hurt as I did.”

 

From behind him, the bed’s mattress shifts as Emma rises from the bed, and comes to stand opposite to Tom.

 

“Tell me, Tom,” she starts, regarding him.

 

“Do you truly believe, even for a moment, that Chris does not suffer any consequences for juggling between you and his wife? For lying and hiding?”

 

“Do you think he’s not paying the price for dishonesty as you are?”    

 

Tom turns to regard his sister. She’s right, his instinct tells him, and the implications of what she says ground him.

 

“And this girl who told you those lovely words, by the way. She knew the truth, you understand, that she was second in your heart, and that she was used, in order to forget someone else,” Emma tells him in a low voice. 

 

Her eyes hold Tom’s for long moments, her stare relentless even as Tom yields and breaks their heavy eye contact.

 

“That must have hurt, I’m sure,” she adds slowly, “and I suppose that’s why she spoke the way she did.”

 

Embarrassed and exposed once again, Tom crosses his arms over his chest as he runs his tongue over his teeth.

 

“Do not imagine for a second, though, that she gained anything good from that insulting spectacle she threw at you.”

 

Tom nods rigidly at his sister. 

 

He’s heard enough, for now. 

 

When he gains enough composure against the warm guilt in his belly, he clears his throat to speak.

 

“When did you get so clever, sister?”

 

Emma smiles prettily.

 

“I didn’t,” she says.

 

“You’ve just grown a little silly, I think.”

 

Tom bites his lip, but soon enough, he loses to his sister once again.

 

While bitter shame and discomfort are rounding in his stomach, he chuckles.

 

“You mongrel,”- he mumbles at her,-

 

A soft knock comes from the door, and Tom stops, immediately falling silent, his face still warm.

 

“What have you two been shushing about for so long?” his mother peeks at them both from the door.

 

Tom exchanges a look with his sister, and when both of them hesitate to answer, his mother gives him a worried look.

 

“Did you get yourself into trouble Tom?”

 

Tom blinks at his mother, and after a moment of silence, his sister bursts into quiet giggles next to him.

 

“He’s fine mum, come on, we were just about to join you and dad for supper,” she tells their mother between her smiles, drawing Tom along by his wrist to follow her.

 

“You tell her nothing, Emma,” Tom mutters at her through a fake glare as they walk down the hall.

 

“About how silly you’ve grown, you mean,” she grins cheekily.

 

Tom snorts at her, and Emma flashes him another cheeky grin, just before she sits around the table.

 

“Don’t worry, mum won’t have a clue.”

  
  
  
  
  


\-------------------

  
  
  
  
  


Later, soon after the sky becomes completely dark, Tom returns to his old bedroom.

 

He lies back on his bed, and with his arms crossed under his head, he stares at the blank ceiling for long minutes, perhaps more, and thinks.

 

He shivers a little when a small knock on the door rattles him out of his traveling thoughts, but does not send his sister away when she raises her eyebrows at him in a wordless request to join him.

 

When she nears the bed, Tom rises to a sitting position, and allows Emma to sit next to him.

 

At first, they say nothing to each other, simply listening to the woosh of early evening breeze hurling through the neighborhood’s trees.

 

“Are you heading back to France tomorrow morning then?” his sister asks him eventually.

 

Tom nods lightly, his eyes still set on the window.

 

“Yes, yes I am.”

 

“Mmm”.

 

“So, if I get this right, you and Chris haven’t spoken to each other since you left the US?”

 

Tom shakes his head.

 

“No, we haven’t,” he says, and calculates by habit.

 

“Next Sunday will embark four months since our last conversation.”

From the corner of his eye, Tom sees his sister nodding thoughtfully at this.

 

“I see.”

 

Their conversation levels out after this, and minutes pass in mutual silence, while Tom lowers his gaze to the floor, his chest heavy with thoughts and contemplations.

 

“I saw some of his photos here and there,” Emma says after a while, “He looks like a very nice guy, really.”

 

Tom feels his lips curve into a small, yearning smile.

 

“He doesn’t just look it,” he says quietly. 

 

“Was he the first one to kiss you then?” she asks, and Tom turns to look at her, finding her smiling curiously at him.

 

He laughs at this.

 

“Well, yes, but I wanted him long before he finally chanced it.”

 

Emma joins his smirk, then leans her shoulder to touch Tom’s.

 

“You two probably look really nice together,” she says gently, a smile in her voice.

 

It’s such a typical, everyday comment to make, but somehow, it takes Tom by surprise.

 

A strange urge flows through him then, one that makes him sneak a long glance at his sister without offering her any reply.

 

He wants to show her.

 

Wordlessly, Tom reaches to his small backpack, and finds his cell phone.

 

Emma watches him curiously, cooing with delight when she notices Tom starting to browse through his images.

 

“A picture? Really?” She says excitedly, making Tom smile nervously as he sweeps his finger until he locates the image he was looking for.

 

Breathing deeply, his heart foolishly excited, Tom lowers his cell phone to his lap, allowing Emma to see.

 

“It was taken during my last birthday party,” he murmurs, looking at the only personal photo he has with Chris. 

 

Carrying any more private images such as this one would have simply been too likely to be discovered

 

In the image, Tom is seen resting his arm across Chris’s shoulder, while Tom is looking at Chris with a wicked smile, leaning close as if he is about to kiss Chris’s cheek. Chris, on the other hand, is gazing shyly downwards, his lips curved into a sheepish smile.

 

“He’s handsome, isn’t he,” Tom murmurs under his breath.

 

“You both are,” his sister says, laying her chin on Tom’s shoulder.

 

“Hmm,” Tom replies absently, looking at the photo as he’d been tempted to over some restless  nights before. 

 

There is one more memory Tom has been waiting to share, dancing on the tip of his tongue.

 

“There was this man I met, a few months ago, a reporter,” Tom says carefully. 

 

“This man asked me out for a date just a few days before I left for Europe - and I accepted his invitation.”

 

Emma lifts her head from Tom’s shoulder, and looks at him, curious.

 

“I went out with him once, just once, and only in order to catch Chris’s attention.” 

 

Tom clears his throat, running his fingertips over his lips before he continues. 

 

“I only meant to needle him, you know? To aggravate and goad him into chasing me a little, but, he...”

 

“He found me, with that man.”

 

Emma’s mouth slips open to form a small gape, and Tom nods at her, confirming her unspoken question.

 

“It all happened so fast, and Chris went furious,” Tom mutters, shaking his head as he recalls, “absolutely livid, all in mere moments.”

Tom swallows, worrying his lips as the memories return.

 

“Chris lashed at him, he was about to knock the man to the floor and do god only knows what else, and -”

 

“I managed to stop it at the very last moment, just before they battered each other.”

Next to him, Emma is watching him intently.

 

“I remember I was looking at Chris, he was enraged and I was terrified, Emm, but inside, I-… I was also thrilled, you know?” Tom whispers, sneaking a glance at his sister’s face.

 

“He was jealous, he drew me close to him when they circled each other, and I was hypnotized by his actions.”

 

Tom hovers his thumb over his photo with Chris.

 

“He was protecting me,” he says softly.

 

Tom can feel his sister’s gaze on him, then, her hand coming to rest on his back, gently rubbing up and down between his shoulder blades.

 

“Talk to him, Tom,”  Emma tells his delicately.

 

“Trust me, this constant battle with yourself will confine you for as long as you don’t give what you really want an honest opportunity.”

 

“Tell him you love him because that is simply how you feel, not because you’re expecting him to say the same.”

 

Tom turns to look at her, wondering again where did his sister learn to speak like that.

 

“And if you like his gentleness so much, give him some of it in return.”

 

The room is almost completely dark by now, but still, the voices of a few kids playing in the nearby garden are heard from the small garden downstairs.

 

“You know,” Emma adds with a small smile, rising from her seat to switch on the lights, “like a true friend would do.”

 

A glow flashes across the room, illuminating it in a moment, and Tom blinks rapidly after being blinded by the bright light, or perhaps it was out of surprise at Emma’s choice for words, he won’t admit it just yet.

 

_ Like a true friend. _

  
  
  
  
  


\-----------

  
  
  
  
  


A little less than an hour later, Tom walks his sister to her car while her husband is marching in front, letting them both share a few more private moments with each other.

 

“I have been waiting for you to come to me with this for months, you know,” Emma tells him.

 

Tom smiles at this.

 

“I might have secretly felt the same,” he replies, watching his feet as he walks.

 

Emma is about to open the vehicle’s door and slip into the passenger’s seat, when Tom clears his throat, causing her to pause.

 

“Tell me, Emm,” Tom says, thoughtful, staring at an undefined spot ahead.

 

“Would you,-”

 

“Would you like to meet him sometime?” he asks, the evening breeze cooling his face.

 

“Should things work out well, I mean,” he adds quietly, tapping his heel to the ground.

 

“Oh Tommy,” Emma smiles at him, causing Tom’s heart to beat a little faster in response.

 

“I’d be delighted to,” she says, and wraps her arms around Tom’s neck, pulling him into another warm embrace. 

 

Emma squeezes his shoulder, and places a small kiss on his cheek.

 

“And so would mum and dad, by the way,” she whispers close to his ear, sending a shiver through Tom’s breath.

 

_ Oh, Emma,  _ Tom thinks but doesn’t say through some fullness in his throat, and hugs his sister closer to his heart.  __

  
  
  
  


\---------------------

  
  
  
  


Chris steps into the apartment, pulling off his cap as he closes the door behind him.

 

He lays his backpack on the table, the rest of his belongings are still in the car downstairs, and turns around to observe the flat.

 

It’s quite small, but it will do.

 

He hasn’t eaten much since lunch, but he is not hungry, and he only pays a short glimpse to  the kitchen as he carries the rest of his personal effects into the apartment.

 

He doesn’t hover afterwards, and shortly after sunset, Chris changes his clothes, re-wears his cap, and descends the stairs back into the street. 

 

He walks at first, allowing his body to warm, and then - when his legs start to tingle with restlessness, he begins to run.

 

He runs for a long time, fast and hot, working his legs until his body is pulsing and sweat is angling down his face, until he is very, very thirsty.

 

A little later, he leans his hip on the kitchen’s marble and quenches his thirst with cool water.

 

When he lowers his empty glass, it lands on the marble with a loud, disquieting clank.

 

Chris wipes his wrist over his mouth, gazing at the small kitchen and humble living room. 

 

The apartment seems to be just as quiet as he is.

  
  
  
  
  


\-------------

  
  
  


“So, pal, you comin’?”

 

“No,” Tom murmurs, maintaining his work without pause. 

 

Paul clicks his tongue at him.

 

“Loo asked to see you, Aiden, a’right? Come on, make it easy for both of us.”

 

Tom remains silent, lifting more wooden boxes from the floor to the upper shelve, pointedly letting the man wait until he’s done.

 

Once finished, he draws a handkerchief from his pocket, and turns to look at Paul as he wipes his forehead dry.

 

“Oh, I’m making it easy alright,” he says carefully, folding the small cloth back into his trousers.

 

“I ain’t comin’, Vern, nor am I to address him this way or another, you hear?” 

 

“Not until the man pays what he owes me,” he finishes, and walks past Paul to the mansion’s door.

 

“See that two are so close to each other, you tell Loo I said that eh?” he says, holstering his rifle over his back.

 

“You look good today, Verni,” he says with a flat smirk and a nod.

 

Tom walks out of the door, and gives Paul his back. 

 

“Have an easy day then, ol’ pal.”

 

“And - cut!”

 

Tom slows his steps to a halt, and turns around to head into the center of the set.

 

“This was good, boys, you did well, and I’m quite happy,” Renly says, tapping Paul’s back and winking at Tom.

 

Paul grins at Renly, satisfied, proud, and Tom nods in return.

 

Renly shares a few technical details with them regarding the next scene, and finishes with another smile, this time laying a friendly slap on Tom’s back.

 

“Take the rest of the day off lads. You did well enough that I don’t want to see you hanging around here anymore today.”

 

“Sounds good. Thanks Renly.”

 

With a small wave, Tom nods at both Renly and Paul, and starts heading to his dressing room.

 

When he enters the hall leading to the actors’ dressing rooms, the sound of Paul’s  approaching footsteps reaches his ears.  

 

He is about to step into the room, when Tom feels Paul’s eyes on him.

 

“You know Tom, I just don’t get this one thing,”  Paul says, now standing in front of his own dressing room’s door, which it adjacent to Tom’s.

 

Tom pauses his movements.

 

“And what is that?” he asks with some caution.

 

Paul cocks his head at him.

 

“You do realize that Renly wants you for his future projects, right?” he tells Tom, “Show him a bit of enthusiasm, and you’ll have that man under your thumb, mate.”

 

Tom smiles thinly to that.

 

“Thanks for the advice, Paul,” he says lightly, “I’ll take that into consideration.”

 

Paul shakes his, a teasing smiles on his lips.

 

“Oh, Tom, come on,-”

 

“This I have to know - What is Britain’s greatest breakthrough thinking about throughout the day while the rest of us are sweating our arses off?”

 

Tom pauses to stare at his colleague, his hand drawing the key away from the room’s door.

 

Someone is jealous.

 

“You want to know my thoughts?”

 

“Enlighten me,” Paul says.

 

Tom considers this.

 

“Well.”

 

A year ago, this kind of attention would have felt like a nice pat to his ego.

 

“While  _ you _ are working hard,” he distincts, “I am thinking about insecurities that numb the senses, about pride and ego that turn a man cowardly selfish,-”

 

“-and about that peculiar urge to blame others for our pains, which is perhaps the greatest lie we’ve ever told ourselves.”

 

He concludes with a vicious smirk.

 

“How’s that?”

 

Paul blinks at him, clearly taken off his guard.

 

“Are you… Serious?”

 

Tom has to laugh at this.

 

“Serious and silly, mate, serious and silly,” he says, then finally walks into the room.

 

“You have an easy day then, Pauly.”

  
  
  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  
  
  


When Tom is about to unlock the door, he pauses.

 

From inside the apartment, noises of running water are heard.

 

Alarmed, Tom pushes the door open. 

 

She must have heard him stepping into the apartment, and she turns away from the sink to face him as soon as he comes in.

 

Tom stares at her.

 

“Celine?”

 

“Hey baby,” she answers with a grin, “surprise.”

 

Tom blinks at her, dumbstruck.

 

“What?” he mutters, “I mean - hey.”

 

Celine dries her hands on one of the kitchen cloths with a clever smile.

 

“The way you are looking at me tells me you forgot.”

 

The possibilities flow through his mind, yet Tom recalls nothing in particular.

 

“Forgot what?”

 

Celine walks to meet him, closing the distance between them until she stands on her toes to kiss Tom’s lips.

“The key, you gave me the key to the apartment, remember?”

 

“I gave you- the key,” he repeats after her.

 

“Well, yes. Last week, the last time we were here together, I asked for it so I could show up here and make us dinner sometime, and you agreed.”

 

“Last time we were here,” Tom murmurs dumbly, still uncertain. 

 

“Yeah, silly,” Celine giggles at him, “The night you won the prize. You really don’t remember?”

 

Tom gazes at the lady in front of him, his mouth opening into a small gape as Celine lifts to kiss him again. 

 

_ Drunk. Last time she came over I was drunk. Drunk and heartsick. _

 

Incredulous, Tom flicks his eyes over the luxurious apartment surrounding him, and it’s there, right there, he doesn’t even have to make an effort to spot it. 

 

That little prize statue is standing yet again in the middle of the coffee table, right at the center of the flat, though Tom cannot recall ever placing it there.

 

“You’re strange today,” Celine tells him, searching his face, but with another one of her small smiles, she kisses Tom’s cheek and heads to the kitchen.

 

“Are you hungry then?” she calls, finding her way back to the kitchen’s marble.

 

Tom watches her fumbling with cutlery and dishes over the sink, he’s barely moved since he’s entered the apartment, and suddenly, he thinks of Tiffany.

 

And the thought swats him, like a slap to his face.

 

“Tom?”

 

Tom runs his palm over his creasing forehead, his breath deepening.

 

He had hurt Tiffany, and Tiffany had hurt him in return. It burns to admit this.

 

And Celine- 

 

Bearing the same conflict with her - is unthinkable. 

 

He can’t mislead her, he can’t, not anymore.

 

“Celine.” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

The price of sleeping with her, of setting this exhausting contest between his mind to his body and heart, is a price too high. 

 

A price paid for nothing but war in return.

  
  
  
  
  


\-----------------

  
  
  
  
  


After Celine leaves, Tom sits down on one of the chairs around the table, staring absently at the golden statue, at his prize.

 

He thinks he knows the answer to a certain question now, and the answer is no.

 

“This is not power.”

  
  
  
  
  


\--------------------------

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next morning, while for long moments Tom is gazing at his own pale reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, he begins to realize what he is about to do.

 

And later, while silently gazing at the scenes being shot, while carrying out his own character on the very main stage - he makes a hesitant, yet a final decision.

  
  
  
  


\--------------------------

  
  
  
  


The day moves on slowly, very slowly, just as one would expect.

 

Restless, Tom leaves as soon as he completes his duties on the set.

 

Within his living room, he sits with his elbows resting on his knees, his palms fisting each other with disquiet.

 

He stares at his cell phone, placed on the table right in front of him, while bits of the past are returning to him, of things said and done.

 

He contemplates his intention for a long time, he knows what he is about to say, and yet - he does not, but eventually, Tom snatches the device from the table with a few swears thrown into the air.

 

“Just do it,” he mutters under his breath, and forces his finger to sweep over the screen.

 

With a shaky exhale, Tom lifts his cell phone to his ear, sensing the device trembling against his skin.

 

The dial tone beeps, and Tom bites his lip, his chest taut with fear of daunting rejection.

 

_ Please pick up, _ he wills,  _ don’t make me call again later, come on. _

 

The chatter of established communication comes through the line, and Tom holds his breath. 

 

“Hello?” the voice answers, uncertain.

 

Tom pauses for a moment, unable to speak. 

 

It has been so, so long.

 

“Chris,” Tom murmurs, his heartbeat in his ears.  

 

“Hey,-”,  _ and I’ve thought about you, every day,- _

 

“...Tom?” 

 

Chris sounds a little worried, and small, shaky smile touches Tom’s lips.

 

“Yeah,” Tom mutters, his cheeks flushing under the attention, under some genuine emotion.

 

“It’s me.” 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you about this man, about this boxer.
> 
> He carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down, or one that cut him till he cried out,
> 
> And in his anger, in his shame -  
> “I am leaving, I am leaving” he said, 
> 
> But the fighter still remains.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to hold the hand inside you,  
> I want to take a breath that's true.
> 
> [Mazzy Star - Fade Into You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uJ61jgFCMM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> Finally, I can post this. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you so much for returning to read this after almost three months and by so giving me a proper chance to finish this tedious chapter.  
> You are all wonderful.
> 
> This chapter takes off right where the last one left, and so with your permission, may I advise you to skim through the previous chapter (and even the one before that, if you are up for it) in order to understand better Tom's and Chris's state of mind.
> 
> Also, I feel I should tell you that unless my calculations are incorrect, the next chapter should be the last chapter of this story.  
> I admit I'm almost too scared to finish this piece.
> 
> Please, I hope with all of my heart that you shall enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Happy holidays to all of us.

After months without a single word exchanged between them - Tom’s conversation with Chris is short.

 

Afterwards, Tom is left to stand in the middle of his living room, his heart prominent in his chest, and a note clasped in his palm, hurriedly scrawled with an unfamiliar address.

  
  
  
  


\-------------------

  
  
  
  


Two days later, during which Tom works to maintain his routine - yet continuously wonders about his upcoming trip, he boards the plane.

 

Throughout the flight, he tries to read from his book, to go through Daniel’s emails and review some future projects, but one time after another, Tom’s gaze drifts back to the clouds seen through his seat’s window, mind crowded and stomach thick with anticipation.

 

While his laptop is lying forgotten in his lap and his thoughts are rounding back and forth, he is fondling his necklace, fingers gently stroking the warm, metallic pendant resting around his neck.

  
  
  


\-------------

  
  
  


His next few days, Tom spends in Los Angeles.

 

He attends pre-scheduled interviews, makes his appearance in Hollywood’s annual film and arts festival, and of course - meets with Daniel to discuss future opportunities.

 

Among all of these - he vehemently keeps his last 48 hours in the country unhampered by any professional occupation.

 

On Thursday, after he returns from the last of his interviews over a late afternoon hour, Tom sits down on his hotel room bed with a deep, jittery breath.

 

He knows what he’s hoping for, yet the possibilities for how the night might unfold are countless.

 

He takes a thorough shower under nearly boiling water, then dresses in everyday yet tasteful attire, he wants to look good tonight, and repacks his small backpack, almost ready to leave.

 

It’s time.

  
  
  


\---------------

  
  
  
  


The ride lasts a little more than an hour, after which the taxi driver drops Tom at the appointed foreign address, a part of the city he’s only heard of but never actually visited before.

 

Tom pays the driver, absently thanking him as he leaves the vehicle and inspects his surroundings, taking in the view of the street’s rows of buildings, their shape and color.

 

He is in the middle of a common, entirely unremarkable neighborhood, very unlike his own locale of residence in France.  

 

He shuffles a little in between the un-distinctive buildings until he locates the entrance to the right building, but then, he hesitates.

 

Instead of walking in through the building’s gateway, Tom leans his shoulder over on of the concrete pillars, and turns to watch the street again. 

 

For the first time since he’s left the United States in favor of his role played in Europe, he feels that old pang of insecurity he’d escaped from all those months ago - now returning to prickle under his skin.

 

Notions of weakness and uncertainty are still cluttering Tom’s thoughts, and yet, he chooses to remain.

 

Through his dark sunglasses, Tom watches the street hustle for long moments, still unready to climb up the stairs, but when one of the shopkeepers across the street sends him an odd look - he understands that indeed, it’s time to move on.

 

He steals one final glimpse at the mirror before stepping out of the elevator, just to make sure, and finds himself standing in front of the correct door.

 

He nears the door, only observing it for a moment - his breath deep and his face schooled into a flat, wary expression.

 

_ Go on then,  _ that annoying little voice admonishes.

 

Clicking his tongue, Tom lifts his palm, inhaling nervously as he plays a soft knock on the door.

 

A moment of silence passes, then, a faint noise of nearing footsteps is heard, causing Tom to part his lips with a soft exhale as he moves his weight from one foot to another.

 

“Stupid excitement,” he frets quietly as he stares at the floor.

 

The door lock clicks, and slowly, the door opens, drawing Tom’s eyes upwards - to look and see.

 

For a moment, Chris stares at him, and Tom eyes Chris back, words and thoughts robbed from him.

 

_ Chris. _

 

_ Different _ .  _ He looks good but- different. _

 

“Hello,” Chris murmurs.

 

“Hey,” Tom breathes, rooted to his spot.

 

Somehow different, yet just as Tom remembers him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**A few days previous, back in Tom’s flat in northern France**

\-----------o0o-------------

  
  


With his gaze set on the cellphone and his hands resting at his sides, Tom contemplates events past.

 

The weight of his and Emma’s conversation has been manifesting deeper within his mind with each passing day, drawing Tom closer and closer to this very moment of practice.

 

As he finally takes his cellphone in hand and makes the call, he feels his palm unsteady, trembling the device against his ear, and he wishes his sister were right here next to him, ready to catch him lest he tumbles, to comfort him if necessary.

 

The tweak of established communication comes through the line, and Tom holds his breath.

“Hello?” 

Tom pauses for a moment, 

 

His voice... it has been such a long time.

“Chris,” he mutters, “hey.”

“...Tom?”

 

At the tone of worry, Tom’s lips curve into a tight smile, his cheeks flushing.

 

“Yeah,- it’s me,” he says, “-How, how are you?”

 

No answer comes at first, and Tom stares rigidly ahead, jaws set as he waits for Chris’s reply.

 

“I’m… I’m ok,” Chris says slowly, clearly baffled, “and you?”

 

On a strange impulse, Tom’s eyes drift to find to his prized golden trophy resting on the nearby coffee table, but he averts his gaze right away.

 

“I’m feeling fine,” Tom clears his throat, “I’m glad you answered,-” 

 

He turns to look at the large balcony instead, breathing deeply before he continues.

 

“I- wanted to speak with you.”

 

Chris goes quiet after this, and Tom leans forward in his seat, tapping his fingers on the table.

 

“Is this… A good time?” 

 

Chris hesitates further, and instead of his reply, some indistinct chatter of unfamiliar human voices sound over the line.

 

“Right now?” Chris mutters, then-.

 

“Hold- hold on a moment.”

 

Chris raises his voice then, asking for a quick recess from someone nearby, and Tom listens wordlessly as Chris’s muffled footsteps take him further from the foreign voices.

 

“Tom,” Chris says warily when background noises are no longer audible, “- Is everything alright?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,- everything's fine,”  Tom assures him right away, then rises from the couch to walk towards the balcony with his hand finding its way into his pocket.

 

_ Relax. _

 

“Chris,” he begins tentatively, “I’m catching Tuesday’s flight to the United States.”

 

“I’ll be staying there for a few days, and I was wondering if- if you’d like to meet, while I’m there.”

 

Chris is silent once again, unresponsive for long moments, and Tom grows nervous, afraid of rejection as he’s hardly been before with ladies he’d handled in the past.

 

“Tom - What’s going on?” Chris asks him eventually, “I don’t follow.”

 

Tom leans his shoulder on the wall, bowing his temple to touch the cool concrete.

 

Chris sounds so perplexed, and Tom can’t blame him for it, but -no, not on the phone, they can’t do this on the phone.

 

“Nothing’s going on,” he says lightly,- “I want to talk you - in private.”

 

“It’s been such a long time,” he says with a soft sigh, “I know things didn’t end well, that we argued, I know, but I... I want to see you, to talk to you.” 

 

Tom listens to Chris’s mild breaths coming through, he knows Chris is contemplating his sudden offer, and silently wills him to agree. 

 

“This will be personal then?” Chris asks him eventually, to which Tom nods at the empty apartment. 

 

“Yes.”

 

Chris clears his throat before he questions further.

 

“And, that man, that Alan -  are you are still seeing him?”

 

Tom blinks at the horizon. The question rattles him.

 

“I need to know,” Chris tells him, and Tom’s eyebrows furrow close to each other.

 

_ It’s true, he doesn’t trust me, _ he thinks impulsively,  _ Emma was right. _

 

Shaking his head, Tom pushes away from the wall. 

 

“No Chris, no. I’d only seen him once, and I’ve haven’t spoken to him after what had happened.”

 

For a moment, Chris appears to consider this too.

 

“If we do this, you should know I still don’t have all the answers.” 

 

“And I don’t want to fight you Tom,” he adds quietly.

 

Tom lowers his gaze to the floor, fingers clenching and unclenching in his pocket.

 

“I understand,-”

 

“I don’t want to fight myself either,” he mutters.

 

“What?” Chris muffles, but then, Someone’s voice is heard, calling Chris’s name.

 

Chris clicks his tongue - “In a moment!” he answers the call, then draws his cellphone back to his ear.

 

“Ok Tom,” he says, “Alright, I’ll be there when you show up.”

 

Tom closes his eyes, relieved.

 

“Alright, great,” he replies, then-

 

“Where should we do this then?” he asks Chris.

 

A mental image of his old apartment flows through his mind, of times spent there together with Chris. He would have given a lot to meet Chris there. 

 

“Should I rent a hotel room?”

 

The offer makes Tom feel a little queasy, it sounds as if he’s implying some suggestive innuendo, but still - he’s very keen on doing this in a private, comfortable location.

 

And yet, this time, the line remains quiet long enough for Tom to wonder whether indeed he’d presumed too much.

 

“Chris?”

 

“No, no- no need for anything like that,-” 

 

“Some things have changed,-” Chris tells him tersely, smothering the line with some mild disturbances when he readjusts his device once again.

 

“Let me give you my address, ok?” 

  
  


\----------------

  
  


Minutes later, Tom places the cellphone back on the coffee table. 

 

A small note is placed in his palm, showing a dubious, questionable home address, scribbled with some haste.

 

Tom looks at the note for a long time, his thoughts gradually slowing down, heart easing its beat. 

 

_ When did this happen? _

  
  
  
  


**Present time**

\-----------o0o-------------

 

Looking at Chris, seeing him in flesh after all this time, Tom’s thoughts are gripped.

 

“Come in,” Chris invites him, stepping sideways from the door and gesturing for Tom to enter.

 

Bracing a small, hardly containing smile to his lips, Tom steps into the unfamiliar flat, glimpsing over the simple living room before turning to face Chris again.

 

_ He cut his hair short, _ is Tom’s first thought upon taking in Chris’s figure under the full light.

 

_ And he’s lost weight - too.  _

 

“I’m glad you made it,” Chris tells him, “it’s been a while.” 

 

Tom nods, his eyes involuntarily traveling south over Chris’s shoulders, his chest,-

 

None of this matters. He wants to step forward and hug him close.

 

“Yes, yes it has,” Tom says slowly, “Almost five months, I think.”

 

“Yeah,” Chris tells him, running his palm over his stubble covered chin.

 

“Why don’t you, uh, have a seat, I’ll get us something to drink,” he adds, and turns to go to the kitchen.

 

Tom’s wordless gaze is drawn after him, noting the simple attire he’s wearing, consisting of a short pair of pants and a plain light blue t-shirt.

 

Oh. Chris looks great today, as quietly handsome as he’s always been.

 

“Good to see you too, prince,” Tom mutters under his breath. 

 

He lingers for a moment more, then tears his gaze away. 

 

Left to his own devices, Tom uses the opportunity to inspect his new surroundings.

 

The living room, as well as the flat itself, just as Tom had anticipated, is simple, consisting of two vertically positioned couch settees, a coffee table in the middle, and a single television set.

 

Coming from the street is some noise of vehicles heading down the road and the occasional human fuss, but other than that - the apartment is quiet. No one else is present but them.

 

_ Chris is here by himself _ , Tom understands, and with a sense of apprehension forming in his stomach, he sits down on the couch, in time with Chris who returns from the kitchen carrying two bottles of cold beer.

 

Almost certainly, Tom’s suspicions are verified.

 

“You came here from your hotel, right?” Chris starts as he hands one bottle to Tom, then sits down next to him, “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

 

“Thanks,” Tom accepts the drink with a nod, “And no, not at all,” 

 

“Good, that’s good,” Chris mutters, tapping his index finger over the bottle in his lap. 

 

“So, how’s France these days.”

 

For some reason, the attempt for some table talk tickles Tom’s mouth for a small smile.

 

“It’s... nice, a very nice place, they have some excellent weather in there, in fact.” 

 

“I know, it’s different than LA, isn’t it.”

 

“Yeah, you can say that,” Tom replies, glancing to look at Chris, who is nodding while inspecting the bottle in his lap.

 

He looks around him once more, noting a few unpacked boxes placed in the corner, next to a hall leading to what he presumes is Chris’s bedroom.

 

“And that role in your series, how’s that going on?” Chris asks him from his seat after a few moments of silence.

 

Among his thoughts, the question brings draws back Tom’s attention. 

 

Just before he left, he had declared this role as the biggest opportunity of his career, and the answer to this question is far from simple.

 

“It’s, um,” he says, touching his fingertip to his brow, “Well, the cast is good, so are the production people, we’re just about to finalize shooting the first season, so, it’s - it’s working out nicely, I believe.”

 

Chris pauses at this, his eyebrows drawing together into a puzzled frown. 

 

“We’re talking the same role you told me about just before you left, right?” he asks, lifting his gaze from his cup to look at Tom.

 

Tom mauls his lower lip, unable to entirely resist the sense of discomfort that touches him.

 

“Yeah, yeah - It’s the same one.” 

 

“I thought you’d be more pleased about this.” 

 

_ He’s onto me _ , Tom thinks as he tosses two healthy sips from his bottle.

 

“Yeah,” he yields, “I’d thought so too.”

 

To this, Chris turns to look at him.

“You thought so?” he asks, his gaze still curious - yet heavier now, “What happened?” 

 

Tom narrows his eyes, quickly reminded of those non-pristine months spent in France.

 

He’d known well that the conversation would, eventually, come to this.

 

“Well,” he begins, mouth tight lipped. 

 

“I used to think that taking this safe, promising opportunity would result in making me happy and satisfied -” Tom says slowly, awkwardly circulating his drink, “but-, that grand assumption didn’t quite materialize.”

 

A moment passes, and Chris’s gaze doesn’t waver, the weight of his stare intensifying even further.

 

“Has anyone mistreated you there?” He asks calmly.

 

Tom huffs a breathy laugh at him.

 

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he says, tightening his hold on the warming beer bottle in his palm.

 

He wants to kiss him.

 

The conversation halts at this, and Tom breaks their eye contact, trying to gather his thoughts. 

 

Around then, the apartment is so quiet.

 

His eyes drift towards the plain kitchen, the partially opened crates in the corner, and the sight brings back the looming sensation to his stomach.

 

“Is this- where you live now?” he asks carefully, needing to understand.

 

Chris blinks slowly at him upon the change of subject, pulls at his nose and inhales deeply.

 

“Yeah, over since a little more than a month ago.”

 

“How… How did this happen?”

 

Chris’s forehead pinches in thought.

 

“The usual way. We talked. I told Elsa most of what has been going on, and afterwards we’d both felt that… A change was needed,” Chris says quietly.

 

With a shiver sent up his spine, Tom turns to look at Chris.

 

_ As simple as that. _

 

“How did this- I mean, what happened?” Tom asks, not quite grasping the situation, “Did she… find out? About what happened between us?”

 

Chris lowers his gaze, eyes squinting mindfully.

 

“She didn’t find out about us - per se. How could she?” he replies, voice suddenly sharp.

 

“We haven’t exchanged a word in months, you and me, and even beforehand - we’d barely spent time with each other.”

 

“These things, they don’t happen in a day, this- gap forming between two people, you can imagine,” Chris says, running his fingers through his hair down to massage his nape, “By the time I sat down to speak with her - we both have come to understand plenty enough.”

 

Tom watches him, listening, trying to put things into order.

 

“So you decided… to separate?”

 

Chris stares ahead, slowly blinking as his chest rises in a low breath.

 

“We did.”

 

Tom runs his palm over his face, the words sinking in.

 

“And... your kids?”

 

“They live with their mother at the same place, which is a ten-minute drive from here. I visit them whenever I want.”

 

“We’re not...We’re not enemies now, me and Elsa. We may not live with each other anymore, but she is still the mother of my children.”

 

Chris drains the rest of the liquid from his bottle, and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth.

 

“Things have been changing between us for a long time now, but only recently we’ve come to face each other about it,-” 

 

“Or something like that.”

 

With a low breath, Chris places his empty bottle on the table with a clank, and Tom can only stare at him.

 

_ Separated. _

 

“Does she know…That I was a part of this?” he asks, daunted by the possible answer.

 

Chris shakes his head.

 

“We talked to the point where she felt she wasn’t especially interested in being exposed to too many details at once, and I… I wasn’t very keen on mentioning your name either.”

 

“I’ll tell her the rest when the time comes.”

 

Chris leans his back on the couch, propping his neck upwards to look at the ceiling. 

 

“I did tell her it was a man, though,” he says, sending a tremor through Tom’s chest.

 

“What did she say to that?”

 

Chris licks his lips through a small, exasperated smile.

 

“Nothing much,-” 

 

“What is there to say, really,” he mutters through his teeth, his raspy tone causing Tom’s fingers to tighten again around the glass bottle. 

 

He is hurting over this.

 

“I told her the truth. That she has always been, and always will be dear to me.”

 

After this, Chris adds nothing more, body propped rigidly over his seat.

 

Wordless at first, Tom keeps looking at him, silently taking in his now thinner frame, his unfamiliar short hair cut, and the unorthodox, thick stubble sloshing across his cheeks. 

 

A deep sense of worry compels Tom forward, and he carefully moves up the cushions, closing the gap between him and Chris. 

 

Chris turns to look at Tom approaching him, and tentatively, Tom places a cautious palm over Chris’s hand, breathing in at the touch of the warm skin for the first time.

 

“I am so sorry you had to go through this.”

 

“I’m not sure you should be,” Chris says, glancing at their joined hands. 

 

“I was an idiot for not telling her sooner.” 

 

Tom shakes his head when he hears this, squeezing Chris’s fingers.

 

“No, no… You’re not an idiot,” Tom counters, longing to comfort him, to be Chris’s friend again.

 

A true friend.

 

“I wish I’d known sooner,” he murmurs. 

 

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” Chris says, giving Tom a long, thoughtful look, then-

 

“What went wrong there, in France?” he asks quietly, his hand warm but unresponsive beneath Tom’s fingers.

 

“Was that role not what you were hoping for?”

 

Tom clears his throat, stifling a sigh. How should he explain this?

 

“No, no, it would be a lie to say so.”

 

“The role is… fine. It’s everything I’d imagined it would be, actually.”

 

“Like I said, the staff is great, I got to know some neat people to work with. They even fixed me up with this... absurdly large, lofty apartment with pastoral view to some french green pastures.” 

 

“And you won a prize too, right? Just recently,” Chris asks suddenly.

 

Tom pauses at the question.

 

“Yeah, I won,” he confirms, momentarily distracted by the memory of that day, seeing the audience cheering him at his mind’s eye, himself wiping straying tears in a questionable pub afterwards.

 

“The funny thing is,” he says through slightly clenched jaws, “now the blasted thing keeps popping up uninvited everywhere around that puffed up apartment they gave me.” 

 

Chris raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“The statuette?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom grits through a taut smirk, “The little bugger has come alive.”

 

Chris laughs at this. A small, soft chuckle. 

 

“So the job was great but they spoiled you so bad you started missing your old apartment? Where the best view you had was that old, bald bloke from across the street hanging out his laundry?” 

 

Tom looks at Chris’s smile, the first he’d seen since he’d entered the small apartment.

 

It’s even nicer than he remembers.

 

“Something like that, yeah,” he murmurs.

 

He drags his thumb over Chris’s knuckles.

 

He should tell him, really.

 

“Friends used to come over for a drink, some girls stayed over for the night,”  he begins, chest turning rigid as he is about to reveal deeper happenings.

 

“We used to be there, getting about, and I remember myself thinking about that night you showed up in my place with those… those flowers in your hand, and- us, having dinner on that small coffee table some time later, watching some sports game on TV.”

 

Chris turns to look at him, entirely unprepared for the sudden change of tone, and Tom can’t quite meet his eyes.

 

“It kept coming back to me, how you were grouching at the television, muttering all those little comments to yourself,” Tom continues through an anxious smile, “That made me laugh every time.”

 

Tom sneaks a quick look, finding Chris staring right back at him, expression guarded and uncertain.

 

Holding his breath, he lifts his hand from Chris’s palm towards his face, sending Chris’s jaws to clench.

 

“I was missing you,-” Tom continues, tracing the tips of his fingers over Chris’s stubbled cheek, “That’s what went wrong.”

 

“I used to sleep with that pretty girl I was dating,” he says, “and wish for you instead.”

 

Chris blinks slowly at him, entirely quiet, and Tom lets his fingers slide behind his ear, lightly outlining the tender skin of Chris’s nape.

 

_ Kiss me _ , Tom wills, _ take the lead and kiss me _ .

 

“You cut it so short,-,” he whispers, carding his fingers through the soft strands of Chris’s hair.

 

Chris cants his head and breaks their eye contact, his breath turning clipped under Tom’s touch.

 

Once again Tom looks at Chris’s face, his hair, his pulsing neck, and finally - at the plain set of furniture decorating the simple living room, thinking with some resentment that Chris can afford himself a setup so much better than this flat. 

 

“Why this place Chris,” he asks quietly, lowering his palm back to Chris’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t plan to stay here for too long,” Chris tells him, tapping his fist over his knee,

 

“Elsa plans to leave the United States soon, in favor of Spain or the UK, and I shall probably follow her, so I can be close to the kids.”

 

Chris swallows visibly, small lines of worry reappearing next to his eyes.

 

“And besides, anything larger would have only made me think too much anyway.”

 

Tom creases his forehead, fastening his palm over Chris’s shoulder. It hurts to see him like this.

 

Why hadn’t he said anything?

 

“I wish I’d known about this sooner,” he says, “I wish you’d talked to me.”

 

“No, Tom, I couldn’t,” Chris says, lowering his gaze as he shakes his head, “and you asked me not to call you.”

 

“Chris,- this was… This was one of the reasons I left,-”

 

Slowly, Tom reaches closer to Chris, lightly running his knuckles over the rough stubble.

 

“I would have come here to be with you,” he pleads, “We would have thought of somewhere better place than this,-” 

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“No, Tom, stop,” Chris crosses him, his eyes suddenly stern.

 

“I almost ended up splitting your boyfriend's jaws into two back then,” he counters, voice low.

 

“Do you realize what could have happened if I did?”

 

Tom opens his mouth to respond, but with a fixed motion, Chris lowers Tom’s palm from his face, silencing him.

 

“What we said to each other that night before you left, the way you felt I was treating you -”

 

“You said I was fucking you,-” Chris hisses, and Tom winces at the profanity coming out of Chris’s lips, biting his lip at the bitter reminder.

 

“That I was paying you visits as if you’re a- a bitch in heat, that you are not sure about your health - actually coughing because of seeing me,-”

 

Chris licks his lips, his throat working on itself as he swallows.

 

“I know I was a selfish prick, and I feel constantly guilty for that, every day, and this-” Chris rumbles, gesturing his chin at Tom’s face.

 

“Seeing you in tears, not once, but twice,-”

 

Chris pinches his nose inelegantly, rubbing the back of his palm over his face.

 

“That was enough to keep me quiet for a while.”

 

Practically speechless, Tom lowers his gaze, looking away.

 

“I felt bloody horrible. What could I possibly have said to you?” Chris mutters, dropping his head back on the cushions.

 

Their conversation halts at once, and moments roll by with only the low thrum of Chris’s deep breaths audible to Tom’s ears, who is too overwhelmed to respond.

 

After a while passes in a laden silence, Chris clears his throat.

“Look, are you hungry?” he offers, voice gruff.

 

Without waiting for Tom’s reply, he pushes up from the cushions to his feet.

 

“There isn’t much in the fridge, but I can uh, there’s a grocery store downstairs, I can get us something to eat.”

 

At first, Tom only stares at him, following his steps from his seat, but when he comprehends Chris’s intentions and sees him reaching for his jacket and nearing the door - he quickly rises from the couch to follow him.

 

“Chris - wait.”

 

“It’s just a short trip there and back,” Chris turns to face him, sliding his arm through the jacket’s sleeves.

 

“Chris- no, hold on a moment,-” Tom asks, coming to stand right in front of him.

 

“It’s just a short trip,” Chris repeats quietly, and Tom shakes his head in frustration, words lost on him.

 

“No,-” Tom implores him, wanting Chris sitting close to him back on the couch, calm and talkative.

 

“Please, take this off,-” he pleads, reaching for the jacket’s collar. 

 

“I haven’t seen you for such a long time, don’t go.”

 

Chris halts his movements when Tom steps close to him, falling silent.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Tom lets it go, heart pronounced in his chest, “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, for provoking you.”

 

“I was insecure, selfish,” he says, inhaling tightly,- 

 

“Jealous.”

 

“Tom,” Chris says uncertainly, falling still under Tom’s ministrations.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispers, breathing deeply as he releases the cloth, hovering his palms over Chris’s chest.

 

“Tom,” Chris repeats after a while, “it’s ok, it’s- it’s alright - We both made mistakes.”

 

“We did what we could.”

 

Slowly, brows furrowing in reflective thought, Tom lifts his gaze to meet Chris’s. 

 

“I could have done better, much better,” Tom says.

 

“I called you a coward, but I was behaving like one myself.”

 

“I was scared,” Tom presses his palm against Chris’s chest.

 

“I wanted you, and there you were, a strong man committed to a nice, respectable lady.”

 

Chris is motionless, gazing at him, and Tom lets his arm slowly slide around Chris’s neck, drawing himself closer to Chris.

 

“I miss you,” Tom whispers, and leans forward, his nose almost touching Chris’s.

 

Chris does not stop him, and Tom dares it, leaning in the last inch to drag his mouth along Chris’s, a light press of lips, a sweet, onsetting sensation.

 

It’s a short, gentle kiss, after which Tom touches Chris’s cheek and inclines forward for another, but Chris is suddenly holding his waist, keeping him close, but not letting Tom come any nearer.

 

“What do you want Tom,” Chris asks him, eyes hooded and voice low.

 

“I need to know.”

 

Tom hesitates, he’s said so much all at once, but Chris reaches for his chin, catching his eyes again.

 

“Huh?” he asks, “Tell me.”

 

Tom licks his lips, swallowing past the doubts in his throat. No more.

 

“I want us to be together,” he says, finishing with a deep breath.

 

Chris blinks at him, still holding Tom’s chin. 

 

“That’s what I came here for.”  

 

Chris gazes at Tom for another moment, then releases him, letting his arms drop back into place.

 

“You speak very differently than you used to.”  

 

Tom smiles mildly at this.

 

“It’s either that or forever coughing and losing focus in the most inappropriate moments, such as when those hundreds of people were watching me when I received that prize,” he mutters. 

 

“You coughed when you took the prize?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom smirks tightly, “Just when they announced my name, in front of the cameras, in front of everyone, no less.”

 

Chris is quiet, and Tom reaches to tug at Chris’s jacket collar again.

 

“Would you take this off then?”

 

Chris nods, turning to strip the jacket’s sleeve off his arm.

 

He hangs the jacket back on the wall hanger, and turns to face Tom again, who is mauling his lower lip as he looks back at Chris, faced crunched in uncertainty.

 

Chris looks down at himself, then back at Tom.

 

“What?” 

 

Tom presses his lips together, then itches the back of his head. 

 

“This... stubble, would you- shave it off too?” 

 

Chris touches his stubble, flashing back a coy smile.

 

“Oh, this. Sure.”

 

\----------------

  
  
  
  


“Better?” Chris returns a few minutes later, sitting back down on the couch, gliding his fingers over his newly shaved cheeks.

 

“Yeah, thank you,” Tom smiles to himself. 

 

“You really do talk differently, you know,” Chris starts after a while, “you’ve changed.”

 

Tom hums at the unspoken, yet fair enough question.

 

“You might blame this one on my sister.”

 

“Emma?”

 

“Yeah,- I contacted her a few days ago, the very night I won, actually.”

 

Chris slightly cocks his head at him, and Tom continues.

 

“That night was supposedly spotless, yet at the end of it I felt like I was banging my head, my fists,” he says, brows furrowing close to each other, “my chest -  against the wall, over and over, and it hurt.” 

 

Tom clears his throat, inhaling a breath.

 

“So, I did it, I called her,” he finishes.

 

“We met a few days later, in my parents’ house, and I told her pretty much everything that’s happened - between you and me.” 

 

Chris narrows his eyes at Tom, taking in his reaction. 

 

“What did she say?”

 

“Well,” Tom licks his lips, “She said out loud all the things I wouldn’t admit to myself, slapped my face with the cold hard truth,” he says through a taut smirk, remembering Emma’s little baits for banter.

 

“That, along with everything else, did the trick I suppose.”

 

Chris nods, fingers hovering over his thigh as he ponders this.

 

“I see,” he murmurs.

 

“Yeah,” Tom peeks at him from his seat, the features of his face now visible, beautiful. 

 

“She also said that you're cute,” he throws, catching Chris’s attention.

 

Chris turns to look at him again, a small smile stretching on his lips.

 

“Sounds like a fine lady to me,” he says.

 

“Yeah, she is,” Tom murmurs, some warmth crawling up his neck.

 

“What happened that night?” Chris asks, but Tom is not sure about his intention.

 

“You said you contacted your sister the same night you won. Did something special happened that time?” he explains.

 

“Oh,” Tom nods.

 

When Tom had shared his heart with his sister, his mind and body had gradually eased their initial rigidness throughout their conversation, but this, confessing his most controversial deeds to a privately thoughtful Chris while the man is sitting at an arm’s reach, is not quite the same case.

 

“Well,” Tom starts carefully, “We went to a pub that night, right after the ceremony was over. We were getting tipsy, myself, some chaps and the girl I was dating, with my prize towering right at the center of the table, and with it some contracts I knew would follow -  for good roles in good projects, which would probably hand over some good money into my hands.”

 

“And I… I was sitting there, blithering drunk,” he says, pausing, “and I couldn’t feel a bloody thing.” 

 

Tom clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a breathy smile.

 

“I was thinking about you, instead of everything else.”

 

“I think it was then, when that girl was drawing me to bed that night, and I was more sad than anything else, It rather hit me that- despite how well everything was seemingly working out, I was… I was quite far from happy.”

 

Tom finishes with a stiff nod and a tap on his knee.

 

“So, yeah. That’s how it went I suppose.” 

 

They fall silent after this, while Chris’s gaze is set on him, and Tom lets out a precarious breath as he attempts to relax his hardlined shoulders. 

 

Tom opens his mouth then closes it, watching his fist clenching and unclenching, unable to completely chase away the sense of utter vulnerability from his mind.

 

Moments roll by with nothing being said, but then-

 

“What were you thinking about?”

 

“I’m sorry?” 

 

Chris clears his throat, shifting his body in his seat.

 

“You said you were thinking about me,” his tone suddenly lower, “What were you thinking about?”

 

Tom blinks at him, entirely unprepared for the question.

 

Oh.

 

“Um,” he searches, flush creeping up his neck.

 

What does he want to know exactly?

 

“I was thinking about you and me in that ceremony, sitting next to each other in the theater,-” 

 

“-Making fun of the silly presenter,” he says.

 

Chris is listening intently, watching him, waiting for more, and within, Tom’s heart beat increases.

 

“I thought about you kissing me in my flat afterwards,” he says slowly, fingers flexing in his lap, “about you spending the night in my bed.”

 

Chris’s gaze is set heavily on him, his eyes moving from Tom’s face down to his neck.

 

He appears to consider Tom’s words, somewhat uncertain, but then, in a measured movement, Chris stretches his arm across the sofa’s backrest, hand set very close to Tom’s face.

 

Chris leans forward then, shifting his body closer to Tom’s on the settee. 

 

Tom inhales, chest rising and falling in thick anticipation as he senses Chris’s arm descending to lie across his shoulders, parting his lips when Chris comes near enough, their faces inches apart. 

 

“Are you still seeing that girl?” Chris asks suddenly.

 

“What?” Tom flutters, disassembling the question, then - “Oh no, no.”

 

“Ok,” he murmurs, and touches to Tom’s neck, leaning his head even closer.

 

Tom waits for him, breath held, he wants very much to be kissed and embraced-

 

Their mouths meet, and Tom sighs into their kiss, Chris’s scent and proximity like a wave of warmth hitting his body, a vivid memory unfolding.

 

Chris pries his lips open, coaxing Tom's mouth to follow, allowing their kiss to deepen.

 

“And you want this now, yeah?” Chris asks over Tom’s mouth.

 

“Yeah,” Tom breathes, lifting his arm to touch Chris’s cheek, running his fingers over the smooth skin, over how nice this is, how calm and unhurried.

 

Chris brings his free arm to Tom’s hips, hesitating above Tom’s shirt, then delves further towards Tom’s lower back, feeling up his spine

 

“Would you come closer?” Chris mutters.

 

Tom blinks at him, unsure. For a moment, he thinks that Chris means for them to lie back on the couch, but the settee is hardly adequate to accommodate even one of them.

 

“Where?” Tom asks, and Chris tugs him forward by his lower back.

 

Though unsure, Tom complies, following Chris’s lead and allows Chris to pull him forth until Chris arranges himself to sit back on the couch, drawing Tom to him.

 

“Here.”

 

Ah.

 

Tom hesitates, he’s never sat in anyone’s lap before, but with Chris’s palm hot on his back, he maneuvers himself to straddle Chris’s lap as smoothly as possible.

 

Momentarily wordless after he settles down, catching some coy flush to his cheeks, Tom sees Chris looking at him, his gaze traveling from Tom’s face to his chest.

 

“It really has been a long time,” he murmurs, “and now you’re here.” 

 

Tom only stares back, slowly calming down within his new position.

 

“You’ve grown bigger,” Chris says, yes floating over Tom’s torso, his thumbs working slow circles above Tom’s shirt.

 

Tom hums at this, an appeased smirk forming on his lips.

 

“Maybe,” he teases, very satisfied that Chris has noticed this, wanting him to find this attractive. 

 

The fact that this extra layer of muscle is mostly a result of his attempt to suppress his frustration and anger over their separation, Tom prefers not to say. Not now. 

 

The thought reminds him of another matter, though, and he runs his palm up Chris’s forearm, over to his left pectoral.

 

“And you’ve grown thinner,” he comments, sliding his knuckles over the warm, solid muscle.

 

Chris blinks slowly at him, breaking their eye contact for an undefined spot over Tom’s chest.

 

“Yeah,” he says, “I haven’t been as hungry lately.”

 

He remains silent then, but returns to look at Tom, reaching to cup Tom’s nape and leaning in for a kiss, a hint of urgency in his eyes.

 

Tom watches him, his thoughts for further questions declining as Chris’s rushed eagerness takes him.

 

Their kiss deepens at once, Chris tastes his mouth, two hands now holding Tom’s waist, both drawing him closer, pressing their chests together.

 

Heat gathering quickly in his stomach, things are happening fast yet he can’t help but cooperate, and Tom winds his arms around Chris’s neck, moaning when Chris moves his hips forward while keeping him close.

 

“I thought you about you too, you know,” Chris finds his ear, “like this, sometimes.”

 

Tom cannot stifle a shiver, and leans backwards, pressing his cheek to Chris’s and shifting his hips, grinding them gently above Chris’s waist.

 

“Me too,” he breathes.

 

Chris moans at his advances, and turns Tom’s head for a kiss.

 

He slips his tongue into Tom’s mouth, palm eagerly massaging his neck, but suddenly - he pauses.

 

Eyebrows crunching in puzzlement, Chris’s fingers feel up for the thin metal clasp resting on Tom’s nape.

 

“What’s this?” he mutters, fingers trailing along the thin metallic thread, down to the front of Tom’s shirt.

 

Body still streaming from their heat, Tom blinks before he remembers, but he decides not to say anything, to wait for Chris to see for himself. 

 

After a quick look at Tom’s face, Chris gathers the necklace, revealing the small pendant.

 

He stares at the golden horse, lightly tracing its shape, a thoughtful line creasing his forehead.

 

“I’ve never seen you wearing it before,” he says, and releases the small jewel, this time above Tom’s shirt, keeping it visible.

“It looks lovely on you,” he says quietly.

 

Chris lifts his eyes to meet Tom’s gaze, returning to rub warm circles into Tom’s neck.

 

Tom smiles at him, pleased, and lowers his head to mouth at Chris’s jaw, down to bite his neck, distantly thankful for neglecting his pair of jeans today in favor of a more comfortable pair of trousers. 

 

Chris answers with a sharp intake of air, and again reaches for Tom’s waist.

 

He cants his own hips forward, lowering Tom’s backside over his groin, pressing his hardness into Tom’s behind.

 

“Uh,” Tom grunts, a tight moan spilling out of his lips,-

 

_ Take-, Take me,- _

 

Cris wraps his arm around Tom’s back and pulls him closer, gently thrusting his hips to meet Tom’s slow moving waist. 

 

“What do you want to do Tom?” Chris rasps below his ear, “Do you want to stay here and talk some more? Do you want to go somewhere else?”

 

Tom combs his fingers through Chris’s short haircut, teeth pressed to his neck.

 

“I’ve already told you what I want,” he murmurs, closing his eyes as Chris’s palm caresses his lower back, just above his bottom.

 

“Right,” Chris breathes a smile against Tom’s skin, slowing down, relaxing his arms and leaning back against the backrest with a sigh, “Right.”

  
  
  


\---------------

  
  
  


Moments later, Chris gets up from the couch, muttering quietly that he should pay a short visit to the pharmacy, and that he shall return in less than five minutes time.

 

He’s already re-wearing that nerve-wrecking jacket again, heading to the door, when Tom tells him he has everything they might need in his backpack.

 

A man can always hope, after all.

  
  
  


\----------------

  
  
  


Chris follows right behind him into the bedroom, halting next to Tom in front of the bed, hands in his pockets.

 

The room is plain, just as the rest of the flat is, consisting of a basic closet, a double bed, and a set of two matching small cupboards at each side of it.

 

There’s also a window to the wall, observing the calmer side of the street, along with a few visible trees and a small grocery store, probably the same one Chris was talking about earlier.

 

_ A double bed,  _ Tom turns to regard it again.

 

There’s nothing special about it, nothing at all, but the inevitable notion bursts into Tom’s mind at once, wondering whether someone other than him had been a guest in this room before.

 

_ I was a fool, a greedy fool for leaving him alone like this _ , a part of him suddenly quarrels, but Tom chases the thought away, unable to carry the idea that Chris might have used this mattress with someone else. 

 

“The room is alright with you?” Chris asks him, and Tom blinks rapidly, returning to the moment.

 

“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t it be.”

 

“It’s actually nice and quiet in here, most of the time. You can even hear some kids playing nearby the block around sunset sometimes. You know, the cute ones, not some bullies,” Chris says aimlessly, nearing the bed as he speaks.

 

“It’s fine Chris, really,” Tom chuckles. And it is.

 

“Yeah, well,” Chris says, running his hand through his hair before he reaches over to unzip his shorts, then sits down on the mattress to remove his shoes.

 

Tom watches him, momentarily rooted to his spot when Chris pulls off his pants and lies with his back to the mattress, left only with his blue t-shirt and boxers.

 

Tom gathers his focus then, and sits down on the right side of the bed to remove his own shoes as well, followed by his trousers, leaving the same undergarments on as Chris did.

 

He extracts the small vial from his trousers pocket, places it on the cupboard, and lies back next to Chris.

 

Lowering his head to the pillow, a small, unexpected sigh of relief falls out of Tom’s lips.

 

The mattress is surprisingly comfortable, the linens feel crisp, yet soft and clean beneath his body, and indeed, when his eyes slowly blink at the ceiling, Tom instantly senses some general air of comfort and coziness flowing through the room.

 

It’s a serene late night hour, the street is relatively calm, eliciting no distracting noise through the window.

 

Tom cants his head, sneaking a peek, and Chris is lying next to him, hands folded behind his neck.

 

His apartment in France, his job, and his colleagues - he’s been in this place for no more than two hours, and all of those feel light years away.

 

Tom turns to his side, leaning on his elbow, and shuffles closer so he can lay his palm on Chris’s chest, who turns to look at him.

 

“Are you comfortable?” he asks Tom.

 

“Yeah,” Tom nods, gliding his fingers over Chris’s shirt and leans over, intending to kiss him.

 

Chris watches him, nearly motionless until Tom looms mere inches from his face.

 

“Did you sleep with him? That bastard bloke you dated?”

 

Tom pauses and blinks at him, taken aback.

 

Emma’s words flash within his mind again, about mistrust and its unpredictable consequences, about people with an exterior calloused - and a sensitive mind behind it.

 

Tom shakes his head with a small sigh.

 

“Please forget him, he was but a farce, who meant absolutely nothing to me.”

 

“And no, I did not.”

 

Chris continues to gaze at him, and Tom returns his look, desperately wanting Chris to see that indeed - this is the entire truth.

 

“Good,” Chris says, and lifts his arm to touch Tom’s jaw, bending his head to catch Tom’s mouth for a kiss.

 

Tom opens his mouth, breathing relief into their kiss, and Chris shifts to his side, lying with his chest to Tom’s, reaching to Tom’s lower back.

 

“I hardly wanted him,” Tom says softly, massaging Chris’s neck as he kisses him back.

 

Chris draws him closer, and Tom responds with a moan when their hips meet, sensing Chris’s erection against his own through the thin cloth of their briefs.

 

“Good,” Chris hisses, sliding his hand beneath Tom’s shirt to caress his spine, sending threads of heat through Tom’s flesh.

 

Tom licks his lips, his dick hardening, and he parts their mouths as he lowers his hand to the front of Chris’s briefs, anxious to feel him.

 

With bated breath, Tom slips his hand under the cloth, then angles his palm and cups Chris’s waiting erection, swallowing down some excess saliva gathering in his mouth.

 

“You’re so hard,” Tom whispers, feeling the hot, hard flesh, and Chris exhales sharply, hissing through his teeth.

 

He drags his forehead across Tom’s brow, and Tom exhales, slowly stroking Chris and leaning to place soft kisses on his neck.

 

“Do you want my mouth,” he offers, following an impulse, and runs his tongue over Chris’s shoulder, biting and teasing Chris’s skin, emphasizing his intention.

 

Chris grunts at this, low and coarse, his hips stirring to Tom’s touch.

 

“Tom, wait,” he squeezes Tom’s waist.

 

“Wait,” he talks against Tom’s jaw, clutching and caressing Tom’s lower back until his fingers hover just above Tom’s backside.

 

“I want to,” Tom tells him, his cock hotly branded against Chris’s hip, but Chris subtly removes Tom’s palm from his groin and reaches to Tom’s calf instead, sliding his hand over Tom’s flesh.

 

Chris moves for his mouth, and Tom accepts his advances as Chris hook his leg over his waist.

 

“Hold on,” Chris mutters, fastening Tom’s arm behind his neck, and with a quick, smooth motion, Chris rolls them over, taking Tom’s breath with his weight once he presses Tom’s back to the bed.

 

He welds Tom’s leg further up his waist, and pushes his erection against Tom’s arse, making him gasp at the contact.

 

Chris closes his eyes, his breaths measured as he rolls his hips in slow, firm strokes, and bends down to lay his head next Tom’s on the pillow.

 

“I want this, ok?” he mutters next to Tom’s ear.

 

“You’re just beautiful today,” Chris insinuates, voice muffled through the linens, “I knew you’d be.”

 

Tom looks at the ceiling, palm resting on Chris’s shoulder blade, touched by the compliment.

 

“Alright,” he says lightly, gently nudging Chris for some space so he would be able to remove his shirt, “Very smooth”.

 

Chris chuckles at this, and follows Tom’s lead, pulling off his own shirt. 

 

“I mean it,” he chuckles, pausing for a moment to stare as Tom removes his briefs, then moves to tug away his boxers as well. 

 

Tom looks at him then, at his bare chest and exposed groin, and with a low breath he pushes to his elbows, closing the gap between them, and presses his lips to Chris’s stomach.

 

He flicks his tongue over the warm skin, tasting the solid curves while running his palm over Chris’s chest, almost shivering at the thought that by tomorrow night he shall be back in France, lying to sleep alone in that large bed of his. 

 

He wants to stay here.

 

Chris embeds his fingers in Tom’s hair, his stomach rising and falling under Tom’s mouth, until Tom leans backwards, licking his lips as he sees Chris watching him, lips parted for breath.

 

With his face almost unreadable, Chris bends forward, bearing them both back to the bed.

 

Wordless, he reaches for the small vial Tom placed earlier onto the cupboard, and settles on his knees in order to slick himself and his palms, the faint crimson marks of Tom’s teeth visible on his stomach.

 

Tom regards him while he’s at it, but tears his gaze away after a moment, arranging and rearranging himself on the mattress for comfort, gathering his calm.

 

Once done, Chris lies on his side next to Tom, fingers brushing against Tom’s brow.

 

“You’re nervous,” he says, tracing the line of Tom’s jaw while his second arm descends to Tom’s belly.

 

“And you’re thoughtful,” Tom meets him, but winds a gasp when Chris’s finger breaches him.

 

“Yeah, well, It’s been a while, you know,” Chris smirks in return, moving his wrist to sink his finger deeper, “Relax Tom, I’ll do whatever you ask me to.”

 

Tom grunts, unused to the sensation, and his head drops to the pillow, breathing deeply against the stretch of muscle when Chris insinuates a second finger.

 

Chris’s motions are gentle but profound, and Tom keeps his breaths measured, until he touches Chris’s palm with his own, indicating that he feels ready enough.

 

Chris adjusts himself, sliding his palm up Tom’s stomach.

 

“Should I use protection?” he asks, moving into between Tom’s legs.

 

“No,” Tom replies absently, inhaling when his legs part to accommodate Chris, then - “No need,” he shakes his head.

 

Chris looks at him then, bracing on his arm and silently feels for the small golden pendant resting down Tom’s neck, thumbing the ornament without making any comment.

 

“It looks beautiful on your skin,” Chris tells him, then lays the pendant back to its place. 

 

It’s a quiet, unexpected moment, catching Tom unprepared. 

 

‘Thank you’ he murmurs, but then Chris shifts to grind his hips, pressing his cock to Tom’s backside.

 

He reaches to Tom’s neck, and bends his head to search for his mouth, finding it for a fast, unmanageable kiss.

 

Tom moans into the kiss, his heart is beating, limitless, Chris penetrates the first inch, making Tom’s fingers clench over his shoulder.

 

Chris lowers his head to Tom’s neck, mouth hot against Tom’s skin, sliding in further, pulling a tight groan from Tom’s mouth. 

 

“Ah,” he hisses at the burn, his bottom stinging as Chris pushes all the way in. 

 

“I’ve missed you Tom,” Chris pants, fingers slipping through Tom’s hair, “I’ve missed you.”

 

Tom swallows through, eyes falling shut, throat crowding dangerously tight. 

 

“Me too,” he whispers, caressing Chris’s heated back down to his working bottom.

 

Chris shifts to his arm, a faint line of sweat dashing his forehead, and with a small, uneven kiss to Tom’s mouth, he reaches down to Tom’s thigh, and pulls it up his waist.

 

“Would you turn around,” he breathes and pushes forward, delving deep in a firm stroke, eliciting another hiss from Tom’s lips.

 

Realizing Chris’s intention, Tom quickly wraps his arm around Chris’s neck, bringing their faces close. 

 

“No, Chris,” he pants over Chris’s cheek, “I want it like this, face to face.”

 

“Ok, ok,” Chris says and finds his mouth again, he’s ever kissed Tom so fiercely before, and he begins to thrust his hips rhythmically.

 

“You feel so good,” Chris says suddenly, voice hoarse over his heavy breathing, ”I would never use you,” and with a shaky groan he thrusts forward even harder, his hips rocking as his cock bores into Tom’s body one time after another.

 

“I’m close Tom,” Chris tells him, feeling for Tom’s neck, holding him as he shoves his hips, once, twice, muscling his cock inside, then stiffens at once, his mouth hot across Tom’s jaw.

 

A low groan falls out of Chris’s lips, and his hips halt in a thick stroke, locking with Tom’s backside as Chris comes, spilling inside him.

 

Body slightly stiff, still transfixed at the sensation of being connected, Tom cards his fingers through Chris’s hair, tucks an invisible lock behind his ear, and leans over to kiss Chris’s mouth.

 

He loves him.

 

Catching his breath, Chris opens his eyes, blinking at him uncertainly.

 

“I’m sorry,” he flutters, shifting his weight unevenly between Tom’s knees, “That happened- too soon.”

 

Chris slowly releases Tom’s thigh, balancing on his elbow.

 

“You didn’t even finish,” his forehead creases in disapproving bafflement, “I got a little excited, I’m sorry.”

 

Tom chuckles at this, amused over such blunt honesty coming during a moment that intimate.

 

“Why’re you sorry,” Tom smiles him, “It was good.” 

 

“Good,” Chris stares at him, obviously not persuaded, and Tom chuckles again, leaning forward for another kiss while reaching downwards to take hold of himself. He’s still hard and hot, he’ll finish rather quickly,-

 

“Hold on a second, wait,” Chris stops his arm, pulling Tom’s hand from his crotch, “Give me a moment.”

 

Tom pauses, and Chris shifts to his arms, towing himself southwards until he bends to kiss Tom’s lower stomach, then the thick tendons leading to his groin.

 

Tom moves over to lean on his elbows, murmuring a breathy ‘oh’ as he watches Chris finding his place between his legs, biting his lower lip when Chris lowers his head, laving his tongue over Tom’s erection, and takes him into his mouth.

 

“I won’t last Chris,” Tom grunts, lying back on the bed, covering his mouth while reaching to Chris’s head, running his palm over his short hair to the shell of his ear.

 

Chris tends him, moving his lips over Tom’s length while massaging his thigh, and Tom opens his eyes, staring at the window as his cock tightens within Chris’s mouth.

“I’m- nearly there,” he pants, and should he tell him? They are here, together, Tom wants to take Chris back with him, to France, to see Chris gaining back his weight, they will be beautiful together-

 

Tom’s body convolves, his muscles contract, and he comes, erupting into Chris’s heated mouth, his lips around his cock, and he moans, gripping the back of Chris’s head with one arm and the sheets with the other. 

 

Chris holds his waist, kneading Tom’s thighs as he comes, but soon enough, while Tom’s body is still rippling, he lifts his head and rises to his knees, wiping his mouth as he settles between Tom’s thighs.

 

Mind still fazed, Tom only grunts when Chris parts his legs and wraps them around his waist, positioning himself and holding Tom’s hip as he slides into Tom in a firm, single stroke.

 

“Uh,” Tom pants when Chris begins to thrust into him, dropping his head to the pillow as his body gradually relaxes from his climax.

 

Chris’s thrusts begin as rapid at first, but gradually, his hips moderate their movements, easing into broad, heavier strokes.

 

Chris angles one of Tom’s thighs upwards, and Tom looks at him move, his eyes half lidded as gentler waves of energy take his body. 

 

Chris’s chest swells and decreases as he slows to a halt, and he bends down to his arms, lowering his forehead to Tom’s chest as he settles.

 

“You feeling ok? Did it hurt?” he mutters, his breath hot and moist over Tom’s pectoral, and Tom sighs deeply, vividly reminded of how pleasantly spent one might feel after going through some honest, heated thrill.

 

“It did, a little,” Tom tells him, “but it was good, very good.”

  
  


\--------------

  
  


Soon after, when Tom asks for the loo, Chris catches his wrist as Tom makes to leave the bed.

 

“Are you staying the night then?” Chris peers at him from under the tangled sheets.

 

_ Of course I am,  _ Tom almost tells him,  _ that was the plan. _

 

“Yeah,” Tom smiles instead, “let me just get my toothbrush.”

  
  


\-------------

  
  


The small bathroom proves to be far nicer than Tom had imagined it to be.

 

With the steam filled room constantly smelling of subtle scent of soap, under the pleasant stream of hot water, Tom cleanses himself.

 

He closes his eyes beneath the hot stream, prolonging his shower in just a few more minutes, excerpts from his previous conversation with Chris playing in his mind. 

 

Supposedly, he’s said everything he’d had to say to Chris,-

 

But, in truth,- he hasn’t. 

 

And what he hasn’t revealed is very clear in his mind, ready and nagging.

 

“No cards kept close, huh. We gonna give the entire game away,” Tom mutters, both to himself and to that small, constantly observing whisper.

 

He leaves the bathroom minutes later, shivering a little against the cool night air as he dries his hair, and enters the bedroom to find Chris, also freshly clean by now, lying on the bed with his arm resting across his face.

 

He shifts as he hears Tom coming by, uncovering his eyes.

 

Tom smiles at him, pulling the covers on top of him as he settles on the mattress.

 

“Your flight back to France is tomorrow late morning then, right?” Chris asks him after a while, which Tom confirms with a positive hum.

 

“I can take you to your hotel, let you pick up your things, then on to the airport, if you like.”

 

“That could be nice,” Tom says, privately content with the offer. He likes this, so very much.

 

The night is cool and quiet outside, with no tiresome noises coming through but the occasional vehicle or a chirping night animal.

 

Chris does not say much after that, and Tom’s mind wanders, uselessly considering the plausible outcomes, until Tom decides to put it to rest.

 

“So, you’re to leave this place in a few weeks?” Tom asks him.

 

“It appears so, yeah,” Chris tells him.

 

Tom taps his fingers on the mattress, forehead creasing in careful thought.  

 

“You don’t have to look for a new place for yourself,” Tom says slowly.

 

“What do you mean?” Chris asks, and Tom licks his lips.

 

“You can come and live with me, in France, until Elsa decides on a permanent residence.”

 

Chris cants his head to look at him, and Tom meets his stare.

 

“Spain is nearby, you can go and spend time with your family for as long as you like, and come back to live with me in the meantime, instead of living somewhere temporary.”

 

“The first season of my series is about to complete its filming. The second season is still up for negotiations,” Tom continues, “Once Elsa finds a location, we can think of a place suitable for both of us,-”

 

“If we want to, of course,” Tom finishes.

 

Chris gazes at him, blinking as Tom’s words sink in.

 

“Have you thought about this?” he asks Tom, his expression illegible.

 

Tom smirks at him. 

 

“The option was there since the first night we spent together.”

 

Chris searches his eyes, he looks entirely taken off guard, and Tom understands right away. 

 

“Will you think about this?”

 

“Of course,” Chris nods, “I will.”

 

“Alright,” Tom mutters, and breathes deeply as averts his eyes to the ceiling, only now noticing how rapidly his heart is beating.

 

A quiet moment of uneasiness passes, until the mattress shifts, and Chris palm comes to splay on Tom’s stomach, warm and comforting.

 

“That is a great offer Tom, really,” Chris tells him, gently caressing his belly.

 

“A great offer.”

  
  
  


\--------------

  
  


Afterwards, Tom is quiet.

 

With his arms crossed under his head, through the twilight darkness, Tom silently observes the hushed room.  

 

Chris is right next to him on the bed, whether asleep or not, Tom is not sure, and though he knew Chris would probably not respond to his offer right away, Tom wishes that he did.

 

Pangs of regret lash into his mind, perhaps he should have waited with this, maybe he should have not mentioned this at all, but Chris’s ankle is warmly touching his, and Tom’s fatigue is catching up with his senses, blurring his thoughts as his limbs gradually loosen.

 

The bed is so comfortable, after so many months, and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here.

  
  
  


\----------------------

  
  
  


There’s a stir behind him, a muffled movement that pulls the blanket from his shoulders - allowing some cool air against his back.

 

A warm palm touches his spine, travels to his hip - and what feels like a kiss is pressed to his nape.

 

Tom opens his eyes to a room completely darkened.

 

A large, heated body is huddled behind him, Chris, his palm is moving down to Tom’s abdomen, grazing his skin, and Tom yawns as his senses return to him.

 

Chris caresses his lower belly, and shuffles even closer - pressing his chest to Tom’s back.

 

With a low, content hum, Tom covers Chris’s palm with his own, brushing Chris’s knuckles, and lays his head back on the pillow, his eyes falling shut as sleep returns to claim him.

 

Chris lets him nap for a minute or two, but then his hand sinks downwards, smoothing over the elastic band of Tom’s briefs, and his hips roll forward, weighing his erection against Tom’s backside.

 

“Hey,” Tom moans out of his sleep, licking his dried lips when Chris’s hand slips through, cups and begins to stroke him lazily, gradually coaxing him awake.

 

He’s so tired, the night is still at its peak, but, he’s leaving in just a few hours,-

 

With a grunt, Tom cants his head for a skewed, closed mouthed kiss.

 

He makes to turn around on his back, but Chris squeezes his hip and won’t budge.

 

“I want you like this,” he tells Tom, “ok?”

 

Through the lack of light and the calm lull of the street, Tom can only make some of Chris’s features.

 

“Alright,” Tom says, leaning for another kiss and breathing a smile when Chris won’t open his mouth, shying of sleep’s bitterness.

 

Chris strokes him further, bringing him to complete hardness and full rouse, until Tom’s hips begin to stir, and he removes Chris’s hand from his crotch.

 

Tom loses his briefs, attentive to the rustle of the sheets as Chris makes his arrangements behind him.

 

With a soft kiss placed on his back, Chris’s arm wedges beneath Tom’s ribs, wrapping itself around his chest, and draws Tom backwards to Chris as his free palm runs over Tom’s backside.

 

Blinking through the dim room, Tom draws a quick breath when Chris’s finger enters him, heart beating faster at the sensation of Chris’s erection nudging his lower back.

 

Chris penetrates Tom with one, then two fingers, his breath turning rugged just over Tom’s shoulder.

 

He slips his wrist away then, weighing both him and Tom to the mattress, and positions himself between Tom’s legs. 

 

He caresses Tom’s back, and bends to kiss Tom’s shoulder as he angles himself with Tom’s entrance.

 

Sensing Chris nudging in, Tom lowers his forehead to the pillow, his breath warmly moistening the linens as he presses his lips together in tight waiting.

 

He’s anxious, Chris really has him good and well like this, and yet, he’s hard and willing.

 

Chris grips his waist, and bears his hips forward, sliding in the first inches. He pauses, causing Tom to hold his breath as he does so, then moves forward and penetrates through all the way in.

 

“Oh,” Tom moans, breached for the second time tonight, lifting his head and readjusting his elbows, eyes closed.

 

Chris’s breath is measured and hacked behind him, now clutching Tom’s ribs as he draws backwards and into Tom again.

 

“You’re sweet Tom, all of you,” Chris mutters, his lips hovering over Tom’s shoulder blade, and invests a harsher thrust then, making Tom grunt in response.

 

Chris moves inside him, his strokes narrow but firm, and Tom reaches towards his hard cock, taking himself in hand.

 

Chris moans when he senses Tom’s unmistakable intentions, and rises up to his knees, bracing his palm on Tom’s hip and the other on Tom’s middle back.

 

He accelerates his hips then, rocking the bed along with them, and Tom parts his lips at the repeating creaks, his palm stroking and his breaths short gasps with Chris’s thrusts.

 

“You can’t go with other men Tom, no more,” Chris mutters, fingers digging into Tom’s flesh, and Tom opens his eyes, listening.

 

“I won’t,” he promises, licking his lips.

 

Chris’s breaths come out short and terse, bucking his hips against Tom’s arse, the low rasps of the bed wild across the room.

 

“You take it from me,” Chris says quietly, his voice low as he drives forward, penetrating deep, “nobody else.”

 

Chris’s are hips working in quick, harsh thrusts, this is it, this is how Chris wants this, and Tom moans, stroking himself closer and closer.

 

“‘m close,” he lapses, and Chris slows his movements and smoothes his back, bending over to kiss Tom’s shoulder blade,-

 

“Come on babe,” Chris mutters next to him, “Come on.”

 

Upon hearing this, Tom’s eyes fall shut, swallowing through a shaky breath, and he comes, cock pulsing and stomach contracting.

 

“I love you,” Tom mutters in a gentle grunt, and Chris holds him through it, smoothing Tom’s belly and his thighs as his body shivers through his climax.

 

Chris pauses for a moment, caressing Tom’s lower back, but soon draws back to his knees, holding Tom’s waist again, and returns to move, thrusting into him until he comes with a tight moan, holding Tom still as he buries himself deep one more time.

 

Tom inhales deeply, slowing his breath as Chris moves through his final thrusts, grunting when Chris pulls out of him.

 

After a moment of silence, Tom shifts to his side to see Chris looking at him through half lidded eyes, also catching his breath, seated on his knees.

 

“What’s up,” Tom mutters, turning to lie on his back.

 

Chris blinks at him through the darkened room.

 

“Was just thinking about something for a moment,” he wipes his wrist over his mouth.

He places his arms on each side of Tom’s body then, moving up the bed to face him. 

 

Tom watches him approaching, canting his head when Chris leans over for a kiss.

 

“What was it,” Tom wonders when they part.

 

“Nothing special,” he tells Tom, “Just about you, being here, with me.” 

 

Chris settles down on the bed next to Tom, and then, if a little unsure, moves closer and slowly lays his head on Tom’s chest.

 

Taken by a warm surprise, Tom immediately spreads his arm to accept him.

 

Chris huddles closer, bending his knee over Tom’s legs and his arm over Tom’s chest, and Tom, staring wordlessly at the ceiling as Chris settles down, lets his fingers run through Chris’s hair, down to his shoulder.

 

With no words to say, Tom rubs his cheek over Chris’ crown. 

 

He has never held Chris like this before.

 

He keeps his eyes wide open for long moments to come, his thumb drawing slow circles over Chris’s arm and his lips close to his forehead. 

 

_ Baby _ , Tom hovers his lips close to Chris’s forehead. 

 

He wonders if perhaps, this - is power.

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


When Tom next opens his eyes, morning light is seeping through the window. 

 

An arm is warmly draped over his waist, splayed over his belly, with Chris’s chest pressed close behind.

 

Tom unbends his legs and shifts his torso, and Chris’s arm tightens, keeping him close.

 

“Good morning,” Tom tries.

 

“Morning,” Chris shuffles sleepily from behind, voice coarse.

 

“How’re you,” Tom smiles.

 

“Hungry,” Chris yawns, his arm stretching along with his body.

 

“What?” Chris pipes when Tom falls into a chuckle, “Aren’t you?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Tom says through his smile.

 

“Hmm.”

 

The awakening morning hustle slowly starts to stir, and Tom remains quiet, staring at the gentle light gleaming by the window, lying still through the sensation of Chris calmly nestled behind him.

 

“Do you want to stay for breakfast?” Chris asks him after a while.

 

“I’d like that.” 

 

Chris spreads his fingers over Tom’s belly, caressing his skin and placing a small kiss over his nape, then settles back, making the matters shift under Tom’s body, and Tom turns to look at him.

 

“I’m going to make a few phone calls, let people know I’m late today,” Chris explains as he wears his shirt on.

 

“Alright,” Tom says, watching Chris as he dresses.

 

Chris moves to leave the room, adjusting his sweatpants around his waist, but pauses just before he leaves, turning to look at Tom again as he hovers next to the doorstep.

 

“Would you- like to make something to eat then?” he asks, leaning his shoulder on the doorjamb.

 

“You can tell me what you need, and I’ll make a short trip to the store.”

 

There is a glint of hope in Chris’s eyes, along with some faint blush coloring his cheeks.

 

_ He really does like my cooking,  _ Tom thinks with satisfaction. 

 

“Agreed,” he grins.

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


Once Chris leaves for the grocery store and after spending a few more minutes Chris’s comfortable bed, Tom is left to tour the apartment once again, this time alone.

 

He takes a quick shower, brushes his teeth, and goes through Chris’s closet in order to find a few comfortable garments for himself to wear.

 

He takes his coffee by the kitchen window, silently watching the local morning rush and inspecting the kitchen afterwards, contemplating his options. 

 

_ This place is not so bad, _ Tom muses. He’d been very doubtful at first, shying away from it, but he can see why Chris had chosen it now.

 

The flat is humble but cozy, overwhelmed by sunlight once the curtains are drawn, and it reminds Tom of his former residence, located in a different part of the city.

 

Just like Tom’s previous flat, this place is comfortable, calm, and somehow warm - to the people it likes.

  
  
  


\--------------------

  
  
  


When Chris enters the kitchen, grocery bags in hand, he halts his movement, taking in Tom’s form.

 

“Hello,” Tom greets him. 

 

“Hey,” Chris says, his eyes set on Tom’s figure as he places the bags on the counter.

 

“You’re…” Chris chuckles and steps close, gazing at Tom wearing his personal clothes, a plain t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

 

“You look good,” Chris smiles, touching Tom’s lower back, “very nice.” 

 

Chris’s arm crawls around his waist, and Tom lets Chris lean closer for a kiss on his cheek.

 

“I picked them myself,” Tom tells him.

  
  


\---------

  
  


They sit down to eat on the small dining table a little later, and when he sees Chris eating wholeheartedly, generously, Tom can hardly sustain his smile.

 

Chris asks him once again about his doings in France, he seems still puzzled, curious about the matter, and Tom tells him more about the series itself, about his character - Aiden, and about the staff, especially Renly, who’s been in the picture since the very first auditions Tom had gone through.

 

He mentions Celine for once, and even Paul - who’s, in Tom’s opinion, turned quite envious of Tom after his winning, and how his jealousy sets out to be quite amusing, at times. 

 

Tom asks his own questions afterwards, and Chris agrees to share some details about his own doings, about a project he is about to finalize here in the United States, and future projects as well, which due to the recent events, shall all take place in Western Europe.

 

The declaration steals Tom’s attention back to another matter, or rather, an offer recently made.

 

A quick glimpse at the clock draws a low breath from him.

 

The thought of leaving Chris once again exhausts his mind.

 

“What are you wondering about,” Chris asks him, noticing Tom’s abrupt silence.

 

Tom taps his fingers to the table, reasoning with himself that it’s better to give this issue some time, but eventually loses to his own arguments.

 

“What do you think?” he starts with as much calm as he can muster,  “Will you come to France? To stay with me?”

 

Chris squares his jaws, gazing the table as he contemplates this.

 

“Have you thought about this?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” Tom nods, “I have-”

 

“I mean, have you honestly thought this through Tom?” Chris stops him.

 

“What about kids?” Chris looks at him, his forehead creased meaningfully.

 

“We are not- equal in this. I have children of my own. And, as much as I’d love to give the same to you,” Chris pauses, eyebrows crunching together, “I -can’t.”

 

The question, the way Chris just spoke it, makes Tom’s heart shiver.

 

“And- what about our work? This will...Change things.”

 

_ Things have already changed, long ago, it’s done, _ Tom thinks inevitably and swallows down, taking a deep breath before he is able to answer this.

 

“When the time comes,” Tom says slowly, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to find a lady who’ll be willing to carry my child, or share one with me.”

 

“As for our jobs- I know that things will be different. I know. And yet- I want to try this,” Tom meets Chris’s eyes.

 

“We won’t be the first two guys in show business who choose to live together. This has been done before.”

 

There is a pause then, when Chris looks at him wordlessly, and Tom shakes his head, wanting him to understand.

 

“Look, Chris. If you say no,” Tom says, pressing his lips into a thin line, “then fine, I’ll take it and go. But otherwise, I don’t want to move on without giving what I want a solid chance, to just- let my life flow and-, and pretend I’ve forgotten how I truly feel.” 

 

“I want my career to prosper, trust me, I do,” Tom tells him, “but I want it to happen - while you are there, with me.”

 

Chris gives him another long, sobering look, then pinches his nose, breaking their eye contact in favor of the kitchen window.

 

“Ok, Tom, alright,” he says, “I know how you feel.”

 

“Ok, good,” Tom mutters, “fine.”

 

And with a low sigh, he leaves the matter at this.

  
  


\-------------

  
  


A little less than an hour later, when the dining dishes are washed and the table is wiped clean, Tom is carefully, reluctantly, folding his clothes, his toothbrush - back into his backpack.

 

He bids one last goodbye to the bed they’d slept on before he leaves the room, knowing it has provided him with sensations he shall remember for many days to come.

 

Chris drives them both to the hotel first, allowing Tom to collect his luggage from his room, and afterwards - they head to the airport.

 

Though they do chat, if sparsely, throughout most of the drive - Tom does not say much.

 

When Chris finally halts the car in one of the corners of the large parking lot, after a slight pause, Tom unhooks his seat belt and leaves the vehicle, sensing brisk as he heads to extract his luggage from the back seat.

 

Chris is already there, standing next to him when Tom lowers his suitcase to the ground, ready to go and leave.

 

“So,” Tom begins, placing his hands into his pockets.

 

He’s accomplished all of his goals. He’d told Chris everything he’d had to say, had offered what he’d wanted to offer, and he knows, deep in his heart - that they are on good terms now.

 

He’d reminded himself dozens of times prior to his visit, that he shouldn’t expect immediate answers to anything he says.

 

He tells himself now that just yesterday he had no idea whether Chris would want to take part in any sort of relationship with him at all.

 

Chris steps closer to him, reaching to touch his wrist.

 

“I’m very happy you came.”

 

Tom smiles at him, closed lipped.

 

“As am I,” he tells him.

 

Chris looks at him, and with a breathy sigh, he glances around them, then back at Tom.

 

“Tom,” he asks quietly, “don’t go like this.”

 

“Give me some time, please,” he pleads, leaning closer to Tom. 

 

Tom lowers his head and closes his eyes, biting his lower lip in frustration. 

 

“I just hate this Chris,” he mutters, his chest stiffening, “I hate this.”

 

“I don’t want to leave. I want us to stay together,- for you to come and live with me,” he whispers, measuring his breaths-

 

_ And tell me… tell me you love me. _

 

Chris squeezes his hand, then reaches to touch his shoulder, urging Tom to look at him.

 

“Tom,” he tells him, shaking his head, “I will, alright? I will.”

 

At first, Tom frowns, lifting his head to meet Chris’s eyes at once. He doesn’t understand.

 

“What do you mean?” he urges him, “You will what?”

 

Chris nods at him, straightening up.

 

“I’ll come over to stay with you,” he says quietly, “Just- give me some time, alright? Give me those few weeks to set some things straight, ok?”

 

Tom stares at him, suddenly seizing Chris’s forearm. 

 

“Chris,” he breathes, chuckling in disbelief, “of course, certainly - take your time,-”

 

He closes the gap between them, a surge of delight startling him, reaching to hold Chris’s cheeks, drawing him for a deep, warming kiss. 

 

“I- I didn’t mean to press you, I honestly didn’t,” he tells him, kissing him once more, “But - It will be good, I know this.”

 

Chris’s stance is rigid at first, but - as they are alone, he lets Tom kiss him, draw him for an embrace.

 

“Call me when you land, alright?” Chris asks him, palm caressing Tom’s lower back while they are pressed close, “Tell me you’re ok.”

 

“I will, yeah,” Tom answers, dragging his nose across Chris’s cheek. They will make it, they will be just fine.

 

“You should go. Don’t miss your flight,” Chris murmurs, his throat working.

 

“Ok, ok,-” Tom inhales deeply. They’ve stretched his stay far more than they should already.

 

“I'll miss you so much,” Tom tells him, fingers threading through Chris’s short haircut. He secretly wills Chris’s hair to grow longer until the next time they meet.

 

“I’ll miss you too, baby,” Chris smiles at him, and Tom pulls him close again.

 

“Call me, talk to me, I’ll be waiting for your calls,” Tom murmurs, closing his eyes as he presses his lips to Chris’s neck, catching his scent, his warmth and solid flesh one more time. 

 

“We’ll talk,” Chris says, holding Tom further as minutes go by.

 

“Tom,” Chris says eventually, “Your flight will leave without you.”

 

He leans backwards, taking Tom’s palm in his and lifts it to his mouth and gives it a gentle kiss.

 

“I don’t do goodbyes all that well either.” 

“Ok, alright,” Tom mutters, and steps back, out of Chris’s arms.

 

He hefts his backpack over his shoulder, takes his trolley in hand, aware of his every movement, and pauses to look at Chris.

 

“I’ll see you soon Chris,” he says, and steps close to him again, reaching to his neck and pulling him for a kiss.

 

“I love you,” he breathes against his lips.

 

Tom lingers only for a sharp moment, then backs away, paying Chris one last look before he turns around, not waiting for an answer, or lack thereof.

 

He walks to the main gate, his blood hot and rushing with both excitement and hurt of farewell, only halting once to wear on his cap and adjust his sunglasses.

 

He reaches the large glass doors which draw open to accept him into the building, and pauses on his tracks.

 

He turns around, and sees Chris still standing there, leaning his back on the car, hands folded over his chest, now wearing his cap as well, looking right back at Tom from the distance.

 

Tom lifts his hand for a mild wave goodbye, smiling a little when Chris waves back at him.

 

“I’m an idiot,” Tom mutters under his breath, and with one last mental push, turns back to the gate, and walks into the terminal.

 

“But an honest one, at least.”

  
  


\--------------

  
  


For long moments after Tom walks through the main gate doors, Chris remains to stand at the same spot, looking at the large glass doors open and close, the gentle early noon sunlight warming his skin. 

 

Eventually, when the flow of vehicles driving at his proximity increases, Chris pulls his cap off and slides into the driver seat.

 

He stirs the car towards his apartment at first, driving a little slower than usual through the road turns, but at some unplaceable point, after sensing his foot restlessly tapping the gas pump and the strong rays of the sun blinding him, making him squint at almost every turn, he suddenly changes his course - and heads to west.

 

To the sea.

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


He halts his car at the far corner of the rocky parking lot and leaves the vehicle, pulling off his t-shirt to remain wearing only his shorts as he steps into the water.

 

The ocean feels different by essence while in daylight.

 

Unlike the cold, darker waters of the night, the sea is now warmer, lighter around his skin, and his body is visible through the water, his very self, maneuvering through the waves.

 

The sun shines through, shimmering over the water, making him squint again, spitting out some salt.

 

He thinks about the many, shattering recent changes in his reality, the pain of goodbye, about fear and its supposedly invisible manifestations, about good, unruly sex, and new, frightening opportunities which might be waiting for him.

 

Chris bites his lower lip, breathing with some difficulty as he rows.

 

“It hurt to leave them,” he whispers, “It really did.” 

 

Tears collect in his eyes, then slide over his cheeks, warmed by the sun until they drip from his chin to become a part of the sea.

 

“I did my best,” he mutters, sniffing through his stuffed, salt stinging nose, thinking about Tom, “I made mistakes with him, with Elsa, with the kids,- I know,-”

 

“But I tried my best.”

 

The waves wash and turn, listening to Chris with their currents, and the tears continue to gather and fall, the first ones he’d shed since he’d spoken the truth to Elsa.

 

“He wants to try and live together,” Chris says as he remembers Tom asking him, contacting him after all this time.

 

“I don’t know how things will work out between me and him, or at all, really,” he says, thinking about his brothers, his parents, Tom’s family, “but I think- I think I will go to him.” 

A few tears follow, until they cease.

 

He swims a little further with the tides, then he dives once, and a second time, being exactly where he wants to be.

 

The sun burns at the very center of the sky, and the sea follows it as it warms - becoming soothing and mild, gentling Chris along with it.

 

Chris gradually ceases his rowing, and lets the tides take him.

 

Slowly, very slowly - the ocean floats him back to the shore.

  
  


\--------------

  
  
  


During a cool, midnight hour, Tom lands in northern France. 

 

After a taxi collects him and his luggage, Tom pays Chris a phone call, as promised.

 

They don’t talk much, Chris is at work, but he asks Tom for his well being and agrees to talk tomorrow once again, which makes Tom finish the conversation with a smile. 

 

Yes. This is exactly how he wants this to be, and more. 

 

He’s washed clean, about to slide into his bed, when he sees his cell phone gleaming with a pending text message - from his sister.

 

‘How did it go,’ it reads, stretching Tom’s lips into a haughty smirk.

 

Tom had told Emma both about his upcoming visit to the US - and his intentions about it.

 

‘It went fine,’ Tom teases abstractly, and sniggers when an urgent phone call follows less than a minute later.

 

“Don’t be like that,” Emma demands excitedly, “tell me.”

 

“So-yeah, I told him,” he tells her, laughing when Emma asks him whether they’d kissed afterwards. 

 

He shares a little more with her, about the decisions Chris has made regarding his wife, about his small apartment, and even about the breakfast they had together.

 

After his sister listens intently, gasping with surprise and giggling at times, she asks Tom about the offer she knew he was planning to make to Chris.

 

“What did he say then,” Emma urges when Tom does not offer the answer willingly, “will he come over to France?”

 

“Hmm,” Tom hums to himself, looking at the large, empty bed waiting for him.

 

The sight saddens him, but not nearly as much as it used to.

 

“I think he will Emm,” he mutters with a small smile, “I think he will.”

  
  


\---------------

  
  


Almost as soon as he slides into his bed a little later, Tom notices his small statuette of triumph placed on the cupboard, right next to his bed.

 

“What’s this- doing here,” Tom nearly spits at it, but holds his tongue at the very last moment.

 

He stares at the statue, pausing as he suddenly feels… different - about his prize.

 

His feelings about his win have… changed. 

 

For the first time, some pride forms within him as he considers his success, along with some satisfaction about his personal, well earned achievement. 

 

“Oh,” Tom murmurs, “who knew.”

 

Shaking his head, he crawls under the sheets, frowning in wonder at a change of heart he’d never even considered.

 

The room is quiet, the night is cold, yet it smells fresh of rain and crisp herbs and greenery.

 

One more time, Tom glances at the empty side of bed next to him, replaying the former night in his head, and lets his eyes fall shut.

 

“Are we good then,” he asks his own heart, which is beating constantly, steadily - finally, finally forgiving him.

_ Yes. _

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


Just before sunrise, Tom is huddled under the blanket, positioned almost like a fetus, trying to keep warm against the nightly breeze.

 

After many nights of naught, Tom is dreaming.

 

And Chris is there.

 

“So you’ve decided to come?” Tom asks hopefully, reaching under Chris’s shirt to touch his skin.

 

And in his dream, Chris tells him he loves him.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life, try to make ends meet.
> 
> I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down  
> You know the one that takes you to the places  
> where all the veins meet yeah.
> 
> Well I never pray, but tonight I'm on my knees yeah.
> 
> I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now.
> 
> No change, I can change, I can change, I can change.
> 
> [The Verve - Bitter Sweet Symphony](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lyu1KKwC74)


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sea's only gifts are harsh blows,  
> and occasionally the chance to feel strong.
> 
> Now, I don't know much about the sea,  
> but I do know that that's the way it is here.  
> And I also know how important it is in life, not necessarily to be strong - but to feel strong.
> 
> To measure yourself at least once,  
> to find yourself at least once,  
> in the most ancient of human conditions,  
> facing the blind death stone alone,  
> with nothing to help you - but your hands and your own head.
> 
> [ An excerpt from the film 'Into the wild'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3ZtaVrk9Co)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> A few regulatory details first - 
> 
> Notes - This chapter contains some important references to past plot.  
> Therefore, I highly recommend re-reading the first part of chapter 11, about Chris's past.
> 
> Being reminded of the past few chapters should also help you - but that's up to you of course :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter - none.  
> \---
> 
> So, this is it - the last chapter.
> 
> I've thought about this note for months, and right now, in truth - I don't know what to say or write :)  
> This monster of a story took me two years to write, and now it's done.  
> I never thought I would finish it :)
> 
> Presenting this story to you was a true privilege - and I am grateful for the opportunity you've allowed me - which is to entertain you, and try and touch your imagination.
> 
> Thank you, thank you for reading this story.
> 
> And for those who chose to leave a word and share their sensations with me - to you goes out a special thanks. Conversing with you has been nothing short of a heart moving, mind-gripping experience. 
> 
> I do hope to be lucky enough and read from you again once I am brave enough to write the next story I am cooking in my mind.
> 
> Yours truly, with love, may we all experience happiness and peace,  
> Me :)
> 
>  
> 
> *Author smiles - and bows*

The sand feels smooth- soft and warm beneath his bare feet. 

 

There is this salty, unruffled wind that blows through his hair, caressing his face, and the sun - it is shining high in the clear sky, conveniently warming his skin.

 

The white golden sand is spotted with patches of thick, brownish green coastal grass that prickle his knees, but he walks forward, enjoying the familiar sight of the beach he remembers from his youth.

 

He is back at home.

 

He finds a gentle hill and begins to climb it, thinking of the nice view he might catch from its peak, but once he reaches the top - Chris slows his steps to a halt.

 

There, on one of the stretches of smooth sand, a boy is sitting with his back to him, his fingers carving circles in the sand.

 

He can’t quite see him, but he recognizes the boy nevertheless, and his lips part in wonder.

 

Wordless, silently excited, Chris carefully nears the small figure, afraid the boy might suddenly flee and leave, just as he did before in the past, when they were together as children.

 

Tentatively, Chris sits next to the boy, leaning a tad closer to him, to actually see his long lost face.

 

Oh, he looks just the same, as nice as the young lad he used to be.

 

“Milo?” Chris whispers, still unable to believe.

 

The boy lifts his eyes from the sand, turning his head to Chris with a small, toothy smile.

 

“Hey, what’s up,” he asks lightly, with no worries at all.

 

“I’m fine,” Chris grins sheepishly, so excited to see him. They used to have so much fun together, just here, on this very beach.

 

“And you?”

 

“I’m ok,” Milo muffles against his arm, his hair ruffling with the whistling sea breeze. 

 

For a moment, Milo simply watches him.

 

“Do you want to go somewhere?” he asks curiously.

 

Chris smiles at once, thrilled with the offer.

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he says right away, already considering the options, unable to wait. It’s been so long since they’ve spent some time with each other.

 

“Cool,” Milo says, still smiling, yet he lowers his eyes back to the ground, remaining peacefully seated and returning to draw unnamed shapes through the sand.

 

Chris pauses and stares, deciding not to rush him. He can be patient. It’s so nice, so rightful to sit here with Milo, he’d wondered about it for years.

 

He turns to look at the sea, the breeze seemingly intensifying by the moment, hoarse and dry upon hitting his face, cool despite the sun’s sweet warmth - reminding Chris of something distant.

 

Chris averts his gaze then, looking down at himself. 

 

Past, or Future.

 

He’s suddenly not sure if he’s a boy - or already an adult, unable to remember whether Milo has already left and moved on for another life, far across the ocean.

 

He never said it, never told Milo about the shrill whispers in his heart and mind, and how sometimes Chris wishes, so fiercely, that he did.

 

“Are you leaving tomorrow? With your mom and dad?” Chris asks mildly

 

“Yeah,” Milo tells him, pressing his lips together, “I have to.”

 

“Oh,” Chris frowns with a sigh, sensing some old heaviness weighing in his chest.

 

How painful this is, how strange, that they must be separated, that two friends have to say goodbye to each other like this. 

 

He’s never really come to understand why.

 

“I wish you didn’t,” Chris tells him in a small voice, tightness catching his throat.

 

He bites his lip, wanting to-

 

“I really- really liked you,” he whispers, hoping, hoping so very much that Milo somehow understands, “more than my other friends.”

 

“More than anyone else,” Chris tells him quietly.

 

“Yeah?” Milo turns to look at him.

 

“I couldn’t tell you before,” Chris mutters gently, wiping his wrist over his stuffy nose, “I couldn’t.”

 

“We were good friends, and I… It scared me,” Chris murmurs, swallowing thickly as he feels tears prickle his eyes.

 

Milo gazes at him silently, his eyes turning a little sad.

 

“It’s ok,” he comforts him.

 

“You were but a boy,” Milo tells him, using the exact words Mark had said to Chris a dozen years ago.

 

“I’m sorry,” Chris sniffs. 

 

“Don’t be sad, Chris,” Milo touches his shoulder.

 

“Hurtful things happen all the time.”

 

Chris shrugs, quickly wiping away the straying tears.

 

“But I missed my chance to tell you,” he swallows, “and I miss you. I miss the good times we had together.” 

 

“I miss you too.”

 

“And I’m so stupid,” Chris grunts, shaking his head in confusion, “I grew up, and some days I still feel so… incapable.”

 

“Chris,” Milo mutters, tugging at his arm. 

 

“You are not just a sinner.”

 

Chris turns his head to him, entirely taken by surprise. 

 

“You’re the other part, too, you know.”

 

Chris stares at Milo, repeating the second part of the sentence, of the strange equation, in his mind.

 

“A dreamer?” he asks, unable to believe. How does Milo know this?

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Chris simply gazes at him, at a loss for words and understanding, and Milo chuckles at Chris’s odd wonder, pushing at his shoulder playfully.

 

“You know what I want?”

 

“No,” Chris says on an instinct, though somehow, his answer feels inaccurate.

 

“I want to love,” Milo says quietly.

 

Chris swallows thickly once again.

 

“To love?” he mutters. 

 

Of course. Of course that’s what he wants.

 

“You’re funny,” Milo giggles, as if Chris already knew the answer to the question, and turns his gaze back to the sea.

 

“Wanna go for a swim?”

 

“Oh,” Chris sniffs, drying the last of his tears, “yeah, yeah, sure.” 

 

“I sometimes go for dives,” he suddenly decides to tell him, “even nowadays, just like you and I used to, only I mostly go by myself.”

 

“Aren’t you afraid to be alone?” Milo says, and unfolds his legs, rising to his feet.

 

Chris follows him, looking down at himself as he stands up.

 

He really has grown up, he’s an adult now. He’s bigger, stronger, and with power - comes... responsibility.

 

“I am, sometimes,” he replies, and they are already chest deep into the sea, cool waters enveloping them completely. 

 

“Well, I’m here now,” Milo says with a smile, arms rowing to keep afloat.

 

“Yeah,” Chris mutters, looking deep into his childhood’s friend’s eyes.

 

He looks up at the sky, blinking at the glowing sun, and when Milo dives, Chris follows him into the warm, familiar deep, before his companion has to go.

 

They are covered by nothing but their simple attire, entirely gearless, but somehow both of them are able to see through the waters, marveling at the corals, smiling at the funny animals, only returning to the surface when they need to breath.

 

They are together again, right now, and Chris can tell Milo whatever it is that lies in his heart.

 

Everything of anything.

  
  
  


If only he so wishes.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


Chris opens his eyes with a cracked breath.

 

He wipes his palm over his eyes, blinking rapidly at his blurring sight.

 

“Ow,” he moans.

 

With a raspy grunt, Chris squints as he stares up at the ceiling, licking his sleep dry lips.

 

Those dreams shall always, forever - catch him unawares.

 

“Milo,” he mutters through his breaths, “Why would he,-”

 

“Oh,” he moans, sensing his thoughts and body still chasing the impression of the dream.

 

Chris slowly moves up to a sitting position, rubbing the last webs of sleep from his face.

 

_ ‘I want to love.-’ _

 

“Those dreams,” he whispers, hissing through his teeth when his feet hit the ice cold floor, “sometimes it’s too much.”

 

A few moments later, sipping his bittersweet coffee over the small dining table in the kitchen, Chris taps his glass, fingers smoothing his creased forehead when more fragments of his dream return to him. 

 

They were swimming together like they used to as young children, -

 

_ ‘You’re the other part, too, you know-’ _

 

-only Chris wasn’t a child anymore.

 

_ A dreamer.  _

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


Three weeks have passed since Tom’s visit.

 

Chris is about to finalize his current project here in the United States, and in a little more than a week, he shall leave this apartment in favor of Europe. In favor of France.

 

He should call him.

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


When he returns to his flat that evening, it is almost midnight in Northern France, and Tom answers his call with a small, raspy voice.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hey,” Chris hesitates, “You in bed already?”

 

“Yeah,” Tom yawns, “I felt sleepy,” and Chris smiles. 

 

He’s sweet. Chris misses him.

 

“Should we talk tomorrow then?” 

 

“Mmm, no, no,” Tom mutters under his breath, the sounds of rustling linens coming through the line, “What’s up, tell me.”

 

Chris chuckles again, fingers clenching and unclenching from a fist beneath his head. 

 

“I’m about to leave the apartment, in a week or so,” he says quietly, breathing deeply before he continues.

 

“So I thought I might come over,” he says with a stiff smile, “and crash in your place.”

 

For a moment, Tom is quiet.

 

“Chris,” he begins with a low sigh, “good, that’s good.”

 

“You can,- I mean I’ll just-, ugh,-” Tom mumbles and clears his throat.

 

“Come over whenever you want.”  

  
  


\---------

  
  


It’s impossible, or so Chris feels, to leave without paying one last visit to Howard. 

 

His most newly made friend.

 

“Hmm,” Howard contemplates as he looks out the balcony. The air is chilly around them, but it smells fresh of rain, and the sun’s shy rays are just beginning to peek through the thick clouds. 

 

It’s a cold, beautiful day.

 

“So when is this going to happen again? Tomorrow?”

 

Chris nods, biting his lower lip with his hands in his pockets.

 

“Saturday early noon, I’ll be landing in France Saturday early noon.”

 

Howard smiles at this, looking both content and amused.

 

“Huh. So he flew all the way to the US just to come here and see you?” he asks, and Chris chuckles at this.

 

“It was a business trip, he was working,” Chris corrects him, sensing himself flushing, “and in the last two days of his trip, he-”

 

“-Came to see you,” Howard completes him with a wink. 

 

Chris laughs again, shaking his head.

 

“Well, what do you know. And he said he wants to give this business between you two a real shot?”

 

“He did, yeah.”

 

“My, my. You two toddlers have found the way to grow up.”

 

“Hmm,” Chris hums thoughtfully, “let’s just hope I won’t muck it up all over again.”

 

“You never did and you never will, not solely by your own hand,” Howard tells him curtly, “but that’s beside the point,-”

 

“You’re planning to stay there? Live with him? In France?”

 

“That’s the plan,” Chris says slowly, “I’ll be staying in a relative proximity to my kids, see them as often as possible, move even closer to them in the near future,” he continues, drawing in a careful breath.

 

“Chris, mate,” Howard touches his shoulder, “That sounds like a good, stable arrangement.”

 

Howard smiles at him once again, squeezing Chris’s arm.

 

“Your guy is intelligent, handsome, he looks decent, - Well done, I’d say.”

 

“Yeah, he’s sweet, dashing - he’s lovely,” Chris murmurs, and remains quiet after this.

 

Silently, he watches the street’s subtle movements under the peaceful afternoon light.

 

Secretly within, he feels blind, blind as to the challenges that he may face and the places his choices might take him. 

 

Blind, and scared.

 

“Don’t you ever-,” he muddles suddenly and swallows, tersely touching his brow.

 

“I mean - don’t you ever just wish for some simplicity?” he asks, glancing at Howard.

 

“- Having a wife, kids - you know - leading a regular set of life?”

 

Howard leans his elbows over the metallic banister, considering Chris’s question, and he is calm. As per usual, Chris has come to learn.

 

“Hmm. Marrying a lady,” Howard begins, “have a few children, which I do, by the way,” he winks at Chris, “- simplicity, as you put it… Yes, definitely. Many times.”

 

Chris to narrows his eyes at the urban view, inevitably disappointed.

 

“Oh.” 

 

“But at the end of the day,” Howard ignores him and continues, “I find myself more inclined towards um, how should I put it-… Freedom.”

 

“Freedom?” Chris looks at him, puzzled. 

 

That’s a beautiful word.

 

“Yeah. I mean feeling free to choose to do what you honestly, hand over heart, want to do, or at least strive for it, actively work for it - and make it happen. Being bold enough to put my feet down whenever is necessary. That’s a very meaningful achievement one may claim to have achieved, I think.”

 

“Simplicity is exactly what it is Chris, it is just- simple. Plain. For better- and for worse.”

 

Wordless, Chris nods at him. 

 

Freedom. And fearlessness. 

 

Being free, and brave enough to choose, to speak up his mind, to love-

 

Chris blinks rapidly, and pays a short glimpse to Howard’s apartment, cozy but companionless.

 

“Do you think you’ll ever find yourself someone else?” he asks softly, both curious and worried about his friend, “After Mark?”

 

Howard smiles at him, his smile touched with sadness, but it is genuine.

 

“Oh yes, absolutely. When I’m ready for it.”

 

Chris stares at him at this firm answer, even furtherly inquisitive.

 

“Really?” he mutters, “When do you think that will happen? When- When will you be ready for that?”

 

Howard blinks slowly at him, swinging his cup for a sip of his warm, sweet apple juice.

 

A chilled swish of breeze touches Chris’s face, and he rubs his palm over his own cup of warm liquid.

 

It’s somewhat cold, but it really is a beautiful day today.

 

“I’ll be ready - when I want to be.”

  
  


\--------------

  
  


A little later that night, when Chris is already lying back in his bed, eyes already falling shut, his cellphone rings. 

 

When he squints to see who it is, he grumbles a throaty yawn and pays a quick scratch to the back of his head.

 

“Hey,” he mutters, rubbing his palm over his eyes.

 

“Chris?”

 

“Yeah, what’s up Tommy.”

 

“You asleep?”

 

“No, just napping before the real thing.”

 

“Hmm,” Tom hums, and Chris can hear the small smile in his voice.

 

His voice is somewhat muffled, as if he’s lying in his bed the same way as Chris is, and for a moment, he wonders what Tom might be wearing at the moment.

 

He would have taken him right now if he could, whatever it is that Tom is covered with.

 

“I know it’s late but- you got a few minutes?”

 

“Sure, I’m with you.”

 

For a moment, Tom hesitates, and Chris fully opens his eyes to look at the ceiling, wondering what’s on Tom’s mind.

 

“About Friday night,” Tom starts.

 

“Look, I know we said you’ll take a taxi from the airport to my place, but I’ve… I’ve come up with a different idea.”

 

“What’s that,” Chris asks, unsure.

 

“Um,-”

 

“Emma, my sister, is here, in France that is, on a holiday, and I thought…-”

 

“I thought she and I might come over and pick you up from the airport instead.”

 

Chris blinks at the ceiling at that.

 

Tom’s sister?

 

“I thought it would be nice if she could… meet you.”

 

Chris swallows, his forehead creasing as he considers this.

 

His own closest relatives are fully aware of his separation from Elsa, but- they still don't know about Tom.

 

Not yet.

 

“What do you think?” Tom probes him gently, “Would that be- ok with you?”

 

Chris touches his brow, dragging his fingers across his forehead.

 

And what should he say? Clearly, Tom wants this to happen.

 

Depriving Tom of his deeper wills and preferences, that can only end tragically. 

 

A low sigh escapes Chris’s lips.

 

He can’t say no, he understands. Not if he knowingly chooses to show up at Tom’s house in a little more than twenty-four hours from now, intending to stay there.

 

This… This is it. This is the real deal.

 

“Yeah, ok,” Chris says tentatively, “- alright, that would be fine.”

 

One again - Tom hesitates.

 

“Are you sure? I thought it would be nice - but we don’t have to.”

 

Chris’s eyes fall shut, and he lets his head drop sideways to the pillow.

 

Tom’s decision to expose his family to their personal intentions is quite bold,-

 

\- And quite rightfully intended.

 

Chris can only envy him for that.

 

Chris’s parents - they will understand. Chris is not a young boy anymore. 

 

But… His brothers. What will Luke say? And Liam?

 

“Yeah Tom,” Chris sighs, “it’s fine. Tell her it’s fine.”

 

The hard yet simple truth is that Chris can tell them everything of anything, and finally allow life to unfold as they should, whether warm and cozy- or fierce and demanding.

 

He can tell them.

  
  
  


If only he so wishes.

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


At the following day, Chris is fully packed to leave.

 

It is an early noon hour outside, and by eight am European local time, he is to land in northern France.  

 

If he’s lucky, no traffic jams shall hold him on his way to the airport.

 

He pauses in the doorway when he is about to exit the flat for the last time, and gives the humble living room one final, observing look.

 

It has served its purpose quite well, in maintaining Chris’s thoughts in check as best as it could.

 

He suspects even Tom liked it, even if just a little bit.

 

With a conclusive nod and a touch to his cap, Chris walks out of the small apartment, and calls for the elevator. 

 

Once outside, he squints, momentarily blinded by harsh, bright daylight that welcomes him.

  
  
  


\-----------

  
  


“Do you want to drive?”

 

Tom turns to look at her at once.

 

“We agreed you’d be driving just ten minutes ago,” he tells her, voice sharp.

 

“Ok, ok Tommy, alright,” Emma lifts her hands in defense. 

 

“You’re horrible,” Tom stares at her, catching the cocky smile in her leer.

 

“No, I’m not,” she smirks at him, sliding into the driver’s seat.

 

“You’re just edgy and excited.”

 

“I’m not edgy,” he retorts, fastening his seat belt.

 

“I just haven’t seen him for a while, and it’s going to be his first time in the apartment, that’s all,” he murmurs, tapping his knee when he hears a swish of a key, and the engine is started.

 

Next to him, Emma grins over in her driver seat, drawing a fake glare and halfhearted huff from Tom’s lips in response.

 

“I’m fine, I’m calm,” Tom mutters under his breath, and when Emma bursts into a vicious giggle next to him, he covers his mouth - and joins her cheer like a little boy.

 

Her chuckle is quite contagious. 

  
  


\--------

  
  


When they near the airport, then the arrivals terminal, Tom’s eyes are set on the window.

 

“Here,” Tom points forward, “stop the car at the far corner, we agreed we’ll meet there.”

 

“Ok,” Emma nods, stirring the car at the appointed direction.

 

With his stomach fluttering within, Tom observes the crowd, saying nothing.

 

Emma brings their vehicle to a halt, and among the lessened flow of people heading to the more secluded spot they had chosen, Tom looks for Chris’s familiar figure.

 

Long minutes pass in doubtful, tense silence, as more and more passengers are revealed and go on by.

 

“Wait,” Tom suddenly says, grabbing the door’s handle, catching what he believes is an unmistakable silhouette.

 

“I think I see him,” he murmurs uncertainly, eyes still inspecting their target.

 

“Really? Where?” Emma leans closer to him from her seat, a smile in her voice.

 

“There, I think it’s him,” Tom answers, foolishly tapping the window’s glass to point his intention.

 

Through the moving crowd, a capped figure of a man, eyes covered by dark sunglasses, walks down the pavement until he rests his suitcase nearby and leans his shoulder over one the thick concrete pillars.

 

Emma’s hand squeezes Tom’s shoulder.

 

“I can see him,” she says gently, then - “let’s go out and meet him,” and Tom licks his lips through a deep breath.

 

“Yeah, ok,” he mutters, previously denied excitement now like a thick ball in his mouth.

 

Emma is about to meet Chris. The two of them, together. As more than friends. Making it almost official. 

 

He wears his sunglasses, but leaves his cap folded in the glove box, not wanting it to get in his way. 

 

“Alright, let’s go. You be nice Emm,” he tells her with a rigid smile, only to receive knowing grin in return.

 

“You’ll do just fine Tommy,” Emma pokes his shoulder, “come on.”

 

With no more words to say, Tom exits the vehicle, his eyes set on Chris’s steady figure, who still hasn’t noticed their presence.

 

Preparing himself, Tom waits for Emma to join him at his side, and then, with a deep breath, he starts walking, heart striding in time with his legs within Tom’s chest.

 

After a moment, now just a few meters from him, Chris finally notices them.

 

With a shy smile, he leans away from the thick concrete pillar, removing his sunglasses as Tom and Emma approach him.

 

Holding his breath, Tom steadies his palm as he removes his own sunglasses, and falls into a keyed up smile in return.

 

“Hi.” 

 

“Hey,” Chris smiles at him, looking at Tom for a moment, until his eyes begin to flick between Tom and Emma.

 

His arms suddenly sensing awkward hanging at his sides, he is not sure how to greet Chris while Emma is at his side, Tom gingerly touches Chris’s shoulder.

 

“Chris,” he catches himself as flush warms his cheeks, “This is Emma, my sister.”

 

With a nod, Chris turns to look at Emma, who is grinning right back at him. At both of them.

 

“Emma, good to meet you, finally,” he says, sending his arm for a handshake.

 

“Hey Chris, good to meet you too,” she beams at him and takes Chris’s hand.

 

They shake their hands, after which Chris nods at Emma once, and then, turns to meet Tom’s eyes again, who meets his stare as he is warm within.

 

“Do you want to stay here guys? Or shall we...” Emma asks lightly, when none of them says anything, cutting the moment even shorter than it already is.

 

“You’re right, we should go,” Tom mutters, but hesitates, not wishing to turn and walk away just yet.

 

“Here, let me take your bag,” he tries upon a whim, and reaches for Chris’s backpack, not waiting for his answer.

 

He itches to touch Chris, to hug and caress him on the very spot, despite his sister’s suddenly confusing presence.

 

“Ok,” Chris murmurs, releasing his bag over to Tom when he sees Tom’s movement, and Tom uses the opportunity, reaching for Chris’s neck upon their momentary proximity, keeping them close.

 

Chris blinks at him, unsure, and Tom leans forward, looking at him with a tentative smile.

 

“It’s so good to see you,” he means for Chris’s ears only, and closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Chris’s mouth.

 

Chris is rigid beneath his touch, but he’s warm and familiar, and Tom slips his tongue into his mouth, he wants to taste him - just for a short moment, his skin tingling as he knows Emma is watching them.

 

He lets their kiss linger, ever so briefly, and breaks his valiant attempt, leaning slightly backwards to place another, gentler kiss on Chris’s cheek.

 

“I’ve missed you,” Tom tells him quietly, and squeezes Chris’s arm one more time before he steps away, drawing Chris’s bag along with him to haste it on his back.

 

“I’ve missed you too,” Chris murmurs, staring at Tom as they part, his own cheeks now reddened as well.

 

Tom chuckles idly, his neck flaming, looking down at himself for no reason at all, and beside them, Emma matches Tom’s laugh with her own gentle titter. 

 

“Alright sweethearts,” Emma says, pinching Tom’s arm, “let’s take this into the car.”

  
  


\------------    

  
  


Once Emma starts the engine, Tom spends the next few moments leaning over the creak between the two front seats, helping his sister maneuver the car through the flow of vehicles on their way out of the airport.

 

When they finally cross the main gate and leave the airport, Tom sits back, dropping against the backseat’s cushions with a small sigh of relief.

 

Emma initiates a small talk with Chris, asking him how was his flight, and sitting next to him, Tom’s body slowly loosens, his heightened senses calming as the view outside his window gradually changes, slowly turning more lush and green as they leave the airport complex behind them.

 

Chris’s voice is coarse, touched with fatigue, and Tom wordlessly, halfheartedly - listens to his and Emma’s light conversation.

 

Chris is wary, but tranquil and talkative next to him as he tells Emma about his favorite beach in Los Angeles. In his lap, his palm is resting motionlessly, and Tom watches it, silently wondering.

 

When Emma tells Chris about her own apartment in the UK, Tom licks his lips, and tentatively, moves his hand over Chris’s thigh, gliding it over his jeans until it meets Chris’s hand.

 

Chris pauses speaking then, slightly craning his neck, and Tom caresses his knuckles, back and forth, and then - laces their fingers together.

 

Chris says nothing, only staring at their joined hands now resting on his knee, returning his attention back to his chat with Emma as aptly as he can when she presents him with another question.

 

Slowly, as their conversation rebounds, Tom lowers his head to Chris’s shoulder, huddling closer until Chris’s jaw rests against his crown.

 

Chris’s speech slows a little as Tom nestles close to him, his chest somewhat rigid within Tom’s proximity, but he does not at all resist Tom’s advances, privately accepting them as he tries to maintain his conversation with Emma.

 

Stealing quick glimpse at the rear mirror, Tom finds Emma watching him, the tiny wrinkles around her eyes a positive evidence for a smirk.

 

Her slight tease pulls a smile to Tom’s lips as well, but he averts his gaze back to the window right away, seeing the gentle green hills surrounding his small neighborhood already becoming visible along the horizon.

 

Chris shifts in his seat, and Tom drags his cheek over his shoulder, running his thumb over Chris’s.

 

Warm and cozy in his seat, listening but not talking, Tom let his eyes slip shut.

 

He’s comfortable.

 

Their drive can last for as long as it takes - a few hours more even. 

 

He doesn’t really mind.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


Emma halts their vehicle at a further yet nearby corner to Tom’s house, allowing them some measure of privacy before they part.

 

Once they remove Chris’s luggage, he didn’t bring much with him at all, Emma faces him with a bright smile.

 

“Chris darling,” she beams at him, “it’s wonderful to have you here.” 

 

Chris nods at her, a smile showing on his lips.

 

“Thank you Emma, very nice of you. And thanks so much for taking the time to come over and pick me up.” 

 

“Oh, that was my and my brother’s pleasure, trust me,” she chuckles, sending a wicked wink at Tom’s direction, one which propels him to shake his head at her, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out.

 

Emma steps closer then, touches Chris’s arm, and with a questioning chuckle, draws herself to Chris for a hug. 

 

From his stance, Tom watches them embrace, transfixed, gazing speechlessly as Chris schools his face, attentive when Emma mutters some words next to his ear Tom cannot make. 

 

A moment later, Emma releases him, and with another smile - approaches Tom.

 

They smile widely at each other, and Emma walks to him at once, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 

“And you, sweetie,” she says, drawing Tom close to her, “You look so different right now, so much more relaxed.

 

“Thank you so much for coming Emmy, really,” Tom murmurs, closing his eyes for a moment as he rubs her back back and forth.

 

“Oh shut it Tom, It’s nothing,” she mumbles, then- 

 

“You take good care of him Tom, be kind, be generous and gentle,” she says lightly, catching Tom’s attention. 

 

“I’m happy for you.”

  
  


\------------------

  
  


After watching Emma’s car heading away, Chris turns to look at him.

 

“She’s nice,” he says, and Tom snorts back a smile.

 

They look rather silly like this, both wearing their caps and sunglasses as they speak to each other at some far corner of one of the back yards.

 

“A very nice lady indeed.”

  
  


\-----------

  
  


When the door opens, Tom invites Chris to enter first.

 

Stepping forward, Chris looks around him, slowly eyeing the apartment as he places his trolley on the floor.

 

Behind him, he hears the door closing.

 

“Wow,” he murmurs, and after the door closes, he hears Tom approaching closer.

 

“It really is a large place. Very… stylish,” he says, and he is about to turn and face Tom,

when he feels Tom coming to stand right behind him, his arm wrapping around Chris’s waist, gliding over to rest his stomach. 

 

Chris pauses, sensing Tom’s nose lightly trailing over his nape, and his second arm joins the first, sweeping over Chris’s front. 

 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Tom murmurs, caressing Chris’s chest.

 

Chris touches Tom’s palm, inhaling deeply when Tom’s chest, pressed close, warms him from behind.

 

“I waited for you.”

  
  


\------------

  
  


They eat a small dinner together, after which Tom offers Chris to share an early evening stroll around the neighborhood, to try and see the twilight sinking over the hills, but when Chris hesitates to accept, Tom notices his growing fatigue once again.

 

He asks Chris whether he’d prefer to see where the bedroom is instead, to which Chris replies with a more easy going nod.

 

They can their stroll tomorrow, or next week even. 

 

They have time.

  
  


\------------

  
  


Chris takes it first to the shower.

 

Tom follows suit, and when he re-enters the bedroom, their- bedroom, he thinks with a quick blink, he finds Chris sprawled over the mattress, and smiles under his breath.

He heads to the wardrobe, as quiet as possible, but while he dresses, the bed shifts and tucks behind him.

 

When he turns to look, Chris is sitting on Tom’s side of the bed, hands folded in his lap, appearing to be waiting for Tom to join him. 

 

“What’s up,” Tom asks gingerly under Chris’s long gaze, coming to sit next to him.

 

He hasn’t said much tonight. Is he not comfortable? What is he thinking about?

 

Is he having second thoughts?

 

Chris takes a deep breath before he speaks, fetching an object resting on the bed right next to his thigh.

 

“I brought you something,” he says, and reveals a small, blue box placed in his palm.

 

Tom stares at the small parcel, quiet as he carefully reaches for it.

 

“What’s this,” he murmurs, though his chest is already filling with fuzzy excitement, already knowing this to be a gift. For him. Something only Chris would think of.

 

“Have a look,” Chris mutters, and after placing the box in Tom’s hand, Tom pulls open the parcel’s lid, exhaling as he stares at its contents. 

 

To his side, Tom can feel Chris’s eyes on him, observing his reaction.

 

“I saw it and thought about you. I thought it would be nice if you had it.”

Tom creases his forehead, engrossed with the object presented to him.

 

A rich yet gentle, gilded thread lies in the small box. A golden bracelet. 

 

“Chris,” he mutters, taking a deep breath, “It’s... beautiful.”

 

“Yeah?” 

 

Chris slips his arm behind him, lightly caressing Tom’s lower back, rubbing his palm over his spine.

 

“Want to try it on?”

 

Tom glances at him, and Chris reaches for the box, carefully drawing out the golden thread.

 

Having no words to say, Tom serves his palm, allowing Chris to wrap the bracelet around his wrist.

 

The small clasp clicks, and Chris releases Tom’s hand, brushing his thumb over the golden thread now surrounding Tom’s wrist.

 

“Hmm,” he hums lightly, “that’s nice.”

 

“It is,” Tom murmurs, still gazing at his gift, and Chris returns to embrace his back, touching Tom’s waist through his thin t-shirt.

 

“You’re quite daring, brave even, I’d say, for actually making this happen and urging me to come here,” he says.

 

Still quiet, Tom runs his index finger over the bracelet, craning his head when Chris leans over the remaining gap between them.

 

“Brave and good looking,” he says, and leans over to plant a peck on Tom’s neck.

 

Tom exhales at the contact, releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

 

He’s known romance in his life, of course he has, successfully courting women of his choice, and yet, each of Chris’s strikingly well-chosen gifts never fails to catch him mentally and rationally unprepared.

 

He is flattered and touched beyond any good measure.

 

Immersed in Chris’s delicate, absorbing attention, Tom tilts his head, reaching for Chris’s cheek and drawing his face closer, meeting Chris’s mouth for a kiss.

 

Tom kisses him, needing to hold Chris close, and slides his tongue through Chris’s lips, thumb tracing Chris’s cheek.

 

Chris tightens his arm around Tom’s waist, gripping Tom’s side, and Tom hums in response, moving to grasp Chris' shoulder.

 

“You’re so sweet,”  _ my sweet Chris, my beautiful man,- _

 

“Thank you,” he mutters, and pushes them both to lie down, coercing Chris to follow him to lie face to face on the mattress.  

 

Chris’s breath deepens, his hands already holding Tom’s midsection, and Tom’s blood drives with arousal.

 

He bends his head for another kiss, his arm traveling southwards, finding Chris’s palm and drawing it to his front.

 

“You make me so hard,” he tells him, pressing Chris’s hand to his growing erection, canting his hips into Chris’s touch.

 

Chris’s draws a tight breath, and Tom moves to seek Chris’s own groin, hoping, finding him hard as well.

 

“I wanted it,” he caresses Chris through his briefs, swallowing thickly, “while you weren’t here with me.” 

 

Chris watches him, eyes dark, and covers Tom’s palm with his own, guiding it back and forth over his hardness, thumbing the new bracelet around Tom’s wrist.

 

“Do you like the bracelet?” he breathes. 

 

“I do,” Tom leans closer to him, “I love it,” and Chris squeezes his wrist, satisfied.

 

“I knew it would suit you,” he says, “Your eyes, your smile, everything.”

 

He releases Tom’s hand then, and leaves Tom’s front, reaching around for his lower back, eyes watching Tom’s reaction.

 

Tom stares at him, letting Chris lead them as he massages Tom’s calf, gradually drawing it to his waist, then pulling Tom close.

 

Chris grinds his hips against him, and Tom grunts, palming Chris’s shoulders, gripping his flesh a more forcibly than he should.

 

“You claim not to know what to say or how to act, that you’re shy,” Tom murmurs, moving his own hips in return, as if he wants to be taken, “but you do know how to speak, what to do,-” he says.

 

“You’re actually quite clever, and knowing - subtly weaving things to flow your way, the way you want them to.”

 

Chris hears this, and pauses, tilting his face to look at Tom.

 

A moment of silence passes between them, as Chris slowly blinks at him, his forehead furrowing puzzlement.

 

“Subtly weaving things to work out my way?” Chris repeats warily.

 

“Yeah,” Tom raises an eyebrow as he won’t soften his words, be it that he loves Chris or not.

 

Chris seems to consider this, casting down his gaze, obviously affronted.

 

“I don’t… buy gifts, or- talk this way to other people Tom. I behave like this only with you.”

 

“Only with me,” Tom murmurs, gazing at him.

 

“Yeah,” Chris touches his cheek, and Tom bows his head, palm tracing Chris’s chest.

 

This is closer, closer to what Tom wants to hear from Chris, but It’s not it.

 

_ It’s not it _ .

 

And it hurts, lying in this bed after Chris has come to stay with him, that he wouldn't say it. 

 

Does he not… feel the same Tom does? 

 

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t so,” Chris says but Tom bites his lower lip, shaking his head.

 

“It’s the truth,” Chris mutters, but Tom leans to kiss him harder, restlessly hungry, and grips Chris’s arms, using his weight to push Chris to his back - and climbs on top of him.

 

Chris pauses under him, unprepared, and Tom lowers his head to his neck, down his chest and stomach, running his tongue and grazing his teeth over Chris’s skin, wanting him and wanting this done.

 

He hooks his finger over Chris’s briefs and pulls them down, licking his lips as he sees Chris’s hard member, somewhat nervous. 

 

“Tom,” Chris touches his head, but Tom swallows down his doubts and dives his head lower, sweeping his tongue over Chris’s length until he wraps his lips around him, taking him into his mouth.

 

Chris hisses at the contact, and Tom closes his eyes and lets his instincts take over, moving his mouth over Chris’s cock, tasting his pleasantly clean skin, gradually relaxing when Chris caresses his cheek, his jaw, and begins moving into his mouth, earnest but gentle.

 

He thrusts forward once, twice, contained yet fervent, and Tom moans at his intent, reaching down to knead his own hard cock through his pants.

 

“Tom,- Tommy,” Chris grunts, and Tom tightens his lips around Chris’s erection, humming as he hears Chris’s strained hiss in response.

 

“Tom, come- up,” Chris grips his arms, gathering him upwards, and Tom yields with a hum, placing a sharp bite on Chris’s hip bone as he crawls back up Chris’s body.

 

“That was good,” Chris orders his breath with a small smile, stroking Tom’s arms, “albeit a little too good.” 

 

Tom wipes his palm over his mouth, and reaches to pull down his briefs, releasing his erection and pressing it against Chris’s waist.

 

“Have me then,” he tells him, bowing his head to Chris’s shoulder.

 

Chris gazes at him, carding his fingers through Tom’s curls down to his neck, and moves to kiss him, drawing their naked bodies close to each other. 

 

He holds Tom’s waist then and makes to shift, to turn them around, but Tom leans forward at once, pinning Chris back down to the bed.

 

“No,” he says, “like this, with me on top.”

 

Chris pauses and blinks at him, caught off guard by Tom’s demand.

 

“Ok,” he nods, and Tom lifts his weight from him. 

 

Tom reaches for the cupboard then, fumbling for the small vial, and with Chris observing his actions, Tom slicks his palms. 

 

Chris’s breath catches the moment Tom beings to stroke him, and goes quiet when, with crimson crawling up his neck, Tom applies the oil over his rear.

 

With a quick, flushed glance over Chris’s face, Tom positions himself, biting his lower lip as he is about to lower his waist, when Chris shifts uncomfortably beneath him.

 

“I haven’t- you’re not ready,” he lifts to his elbows.

 

“It’s fine,” Tom tells him, mostly sure of what he is doing, “I want this, and I want you.”

 

Chris looks at him uncertainly but he is quiet, and Tom returns to situate himself, holding his breath when he feels Chris’s hardness breaching him.

 

He sinks down further and squares his jaws tighter,  _ it burns and Chris is thick _ , and pauses, willing his muscles to loosen.

 

Chris is perfectly still beneath him, watching Tom attentively, and Tom inhales deeply, slowly lowering his waist with a hiss until he straddles Chris fully, and opens his eyes again.

 

“You ok?” Chris asks, and Tom nods, a relieved smile touching his lips.

 

Tom closes his eyes then, and places his palms on Chris’s chest, grinding his backside over Chris’s groin, taking Chris deeper.

 

He moves once more, then again, allowing Chris to slip half way out of him, then slides over him again.

 

Chris grunts along with Tom’s movements, at some point dropping back on the bed, one arm covering his eyes, his lips parted in soft moans as Tom moves above him.

 

He is very beautiful like this, pliant and receiving, and with a careful movement, Tom reaches for the vial once again, applying more oil to his palm.

 

Breathing deeply, easing his chest, he drops the bottle back to the mattress and wraps his palm around his erection, letting his fingers slide across his shaft while he is filled.

 

Beneath him, Chris’s uncovers his eyes when he senses Tom shifting, vehemently watches his intentions.

 

Tom feels his own length once again, balancing on Chris’s stomach as he continues, when Chris sets his hands for Tom’s hips.

 

“You're so pretty like this,” he says, holding Tom, dragging his thumb over his hip bone.

 

With a firm grip, he grinds his pelvis into Tom’s behind.

 

“Uh,” Tom grunts, and Chris pushes into him again, keeping Tom’s waist steady as he moves.

 

Tom bends forward on his arm next to Chris’s head, and strokes himself further while Chris continues to thrust, closing his eyes as his body is rocked and held, that hot knot tying in his belly.

 

Chris shifts to his elbow then, delving to kiss Tom’s mouth.

 

“It’s just you baby,” he pants, “like that, it’s just you,-”

 

“Oh, Chris-” Tom snorts a grunt, desperate, and pushes Chris back over the bed to gain more balance, more control, stroking his cock closer to release.

 

Chris grips his hips, rutting into him, a little harsher, faster, gazing at Tom’s face, at his hand working his groin, and Tom gasps in time with Chris’s thrusts, stomach drawing tighter,-

 

“Oh,” he moans, circling his palm around his dick just in time, just the right way, with Chris hard inside him,- 

 

He loves him very, very much-

 

Tom’s body clenches as he comes, his cock pulsing, eyes tightly shut and breath held within as his body shudders with pleasure and relief.

 

Gradually, Tom relaxes, his chest easing, and Chris slows his movements into a calmer rhythm under Tom, hands massaging Tom’s thighs, until he pauses - and stretches to the cupboard, feeling for some soft paper tissues.

 

He hands the tissues to Tom, and shifts as close to a sitting position as he can manage while keeping Tom seated in his lap, and smiles lightly at him.

 

“Feeling alright?” 

 

“Yeah,” Tom cleanses his palm, and with a low moan he untangles himself from Chris’s groin, carefully inching towards the mattress, lying on his back next to Chris.

 

Chris looks at him, observing Tom’s form stretched out on the bed, and reaches to caress his torso, hand traveling down to his waist.

 

He moves his knee between Tom’s legs then, pushing them apart, and slips along the other knee as well, situating himself between Tom’s thighs.

 

He tugs Tom’s legs to his waist, and bends over to kiss Tom’s lips, drawing a small gasp from Tom’s mouth when he presses his cock against Tom’s opening.

 

He pushes forward, weighing his way inside, and Tom gasps at the intrusion, eyes tightly shut, and lets his head drop sideways over the pillow.

 

“Baby, sweet baby,” Chris murmurs, and leans backwards to balance on his knees, drawing Tom’s leg over his shoulder and rolling his hips back and forth, taking him.

 

Tom opens his eyes to look, seeing Chris’s face crunched in concentration, eyes closed and chest drawn as his hips move.

 

Chris quickens his thrusts, squeezing Tom’s ankle and turning to kiss it, his cock sliding inside and out, building his own release with sharper, demanding thrusts.

 

He grabs Tom’s waist then and rocks into him, fingers digging into Tom’s ankle, and comes with a low groan, clutching his leg and hips as he invests his final thrusts. 

 

His movements slowly decrease, his arms ease, and he releases Tom’s legs to bend down for a kiss.

 

Tom parts his lips to him, tracing his palm over Chris’s nape as Chris moves inside him a few more times, languid and moderate. 

 

“Sweetheart,” Chris says lightly, and slips out of Tom, placing another kiss on Tom’s shoulder.

 

After making sure Tom is not in pain, Chris leaves to the shower.

 

Tom takes his turn in the bathroom afterwards, wiping himself clean under a hot stream of water, and makes his way back to their shared bed once done.

 

Chris lies with his back to bed, eyes closed with his arms folded under his neck, and Tom takes his place on the mattress, mimicking Chris’s position as he settles next to him.

 

For a short while, Tom gazes at the darkened sky through the window, his body warm under the sheets, and beneath his head, his finger is delicately tracing his new bracelet.

 

_ Only with you _ , Chris had said.

 

Moments pass, and Tom’s forehead slowly creases in thought.

 

“Have you met someone lately?” he asks, his voice’s emphasized within the large bedroom, but hopefully steady.

 

Chris slits his eyes open and turns his head to look at him, puzzled.

 

“During the last few months, while we were - separated, I mean,” Tom explains, and the question pulls a frown over Chris’s face.

 

Chris considers this, then extracts his arm from under his neck to pull his nose, looking rather uncomfortable with the direction their dialogue was taking.

 

“I met this one girl, at some point after I left the place I shared with Elsa and the kids,” he says, hesitant with his answer.

 

“She was nice, but- I only met her twice,” he finishes. 

 

As Chris speaks, among his jolt of jealousy and sense of insecurity, Tom’s eyes narrow at the ceiling.

 

_ A girl… a woman. _

_ And it’s only fair, isn’t it _ , Chris’s words from the past suddenly echo through his mind, and Tom reflects upon the repeating relevance. 

 

_ I have had my own dates, my own girls, and now you’ve had yours. _

 

Beside him, Chris clears his throat.

 

“It wasn’t…. It was nothing serious.”

 

“Yeah,” Tom nods mildly, still absorbing the information.

 

_ A woman. _

 

He thinks of his own body then, nestled under the covers, and his thoughts insist further.

 

“And men?” he wants to know, “have you met any?”

 

Chris stares at him, his frown deepening.

 

“Men?”

 

Chris averts his eyes and touches his brow, his eyebrows still crunched together in thoughtful hesitation.

 

“No, no - I haven’t.”

 

“Ah,” Tom’s chest unties somewhat, halfway at ease.

 

“Tom,” Chris starts, still hesitant, “it’s- it’s not like that.”

 

“What is?” Tom peers at him.

 

“That girl,- I only wanted to- try and ease my mind. Things were being rough. I wasn't looking for a permanent girlfriend or anything like that,” Chris shakes his head.

 

“And… and men, I’m not after anything with- some bloke. I hadn’t looked for a man to- to be with, while we weren't in touch.”

 

Tom gazes at him, taking in Chris’s expression.

 

“I’m not solely a men’s man, Tom,” he says and pauses. 

 

“That is not to say that I am altogether blind to other men, but-” he says slowly, throat visibly swallowing, “I don’t have with others what I have with you. Far from it.” 

 

Tom lets his wordless stare linger for moments, thoughts unclear and heart beating out in the open.

 

“I didn’t know that,” he says quietly, his eyes wide under the dimness of the room.

 

“Not a men’s man then,” he whispers, voice uneven.

 

Chris’s eyes are large as well, cautiously, anxiously, observing Tom’s reaction.

 

“Not exclusively, no.-”

 

“What I feel for you is very different.”

 

Like a wave of heavy lead, Chris’s words engulf Tom like a thick, warm liquid.

 

At times, he feels as if that about Chris - he knows nothing at all.

 

He can’t claim his own preferences run exclusively towards men either, and yet, this uncertainty suddenly suffocates him.

 

And he loves Chris. Very, very much.

 

“I did not know that either,” he murmurs eventually, his jaws pressed stiffly together.

 

And if Chris does leave, if he really does not feel the same, Tom will vehemently chase him, physically hold him back until he convinces him otherwise- or gets some concrete answers instead.

 

“We are just something, you know? You and me.” Tom mumbles, dragging his finger over the bridge of his nose.

 

“Look at us. Actually trying to pull this off. It’s just - madness,” he points at Chris’s chest, “you said it yourself once, didn’t you. Right at the very first time we jumped into this,-”

 

“Who knows what’s going to happen with this little business of ours,” Tom chuckles tightly.

 

“Whether we’ll make it- or call ourselves blithering fools in a year from now, after everyone -your family, my mom,-” he swallows thickly, “my dad, will already know about everything,-”

 

Tom finishes with a fast exhale and grows quiet then, calming his heart, when Chris’s palm touches his stomach, tenderly smoothing his skin.

 

“Why are you saying these things,” Chris asks him.

 

The contact is so pleasant, so comforting, and Tom closes his eyes, biting his lip against the lump stoppering his throat.

 

“Because-” Tom tries to explain, “I love you too much,” and a tear escapes his eye, trickling down his cheek, followed by another, and another.

 

Chris’s hand halts its movement, and he gazes at Tom, probably staring at the tears wetting Tom’s face, and for a moment - he is wordless.

 

His eyebrows furrow together then, and tentatively, he shuffles closer to Tom, reaching to touch his cheek, wiping some damp skin with his thumb. 

 

Tom only looks at him, lying still as Chris’s gentleness only draws more messy tears from eyes.

 

After a quiet moment, Chris leans over to kiss him.

 

“I love you too, Tom,” he says, very close to Tom’s lips, and places another kiss on Tom’s cheek.

 

Tom’s eyes open at once, heart providing a louder knock within his chest, and Chris traces his neck with his fingers.

 

“You are one of the closest people to me, and - what we’re doing- is not madness, at least not as I meant it back at that time.”

 

“This… it’s just what I want - to be here, with you.”

 

With his attention carefully held, Tom suddenly sniffs, huffing a grunt when he needs to cough against his stuffy nose.

 

Chris chuckles then, and turns around to fetch another tissue from the nearby cupboard.

 

“You’re sweet,” he mutters with a smile when he hands the tissue to Tom, leaning to kiss his cheek again.

“I’m scared too,” he says lightly, remaining close, “probably more than you know.” 

 

“But we can make it, you know?” he begins to gently rub Tom’s belly again, “Support each other - work this out like a team, and let things happen.”

 

Tom wipes his nose and breathes deeply. 

 

He can’t answer, not right now. 

 

He extends his arm to Chris’s shoulder blade instead, and draws for an embrace.

 

Chris reciprocates, bending over to Tom, and when he comes near enough, Tom plants small kisses over his shoulder, holding Chris as close to him as possible.

 

Chris stretches to lie halfway on top of Tom, and presses his hips to Tom’s waist, his presence strong, and lasting.

 

“We’ll be fine baby,” he murmurs next to Tom’s ear.

 

“Just fine.”

  
  


\------------------------

  
  
  


The night is at its peak.

 

Just about to fall asleep, pressed behind Chris, Tom blinks his eyes open, remembering something else. Something... different. 

 

“Are you still having bad dreams?” he asks, judging that Chris is still awake by the rhythm of his breathing.

 

“Hmm,” Tom feels Chris’s chest shifting when he inhales.

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

Tom snuggles even closer to him, wanting to help him very much with this, yet not knowing how.

 

Chris covers Tom’s palm with his, and draws a quick breath, as if in a smile.

“It’s getting better though,” he says lightly, “with time.”

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


When he opens his eyes, the dark sky outside the window is just beginning to mingle their dark shades with the very first rays of light.

 

His mind wonders then, he is lying on his own side of the bed, and Tom turns his head to make sure, finding Chris’s body stretched next to him, enveloped under the covers.

 

He exhales with relief then, and rubs his wrist across his face, clearing more webs of sleep from his mind.

 

Moments pass, and Tom watches Chris’s quiet form, turning over to his back as he gradually awakens.

 

Drifting towards the window again, Tom catches the sight of the small figure of his golden pendant positioned on the bottom head frame, just as Tom left it two days prior.

 

Under this light, the pendant is seen like a far away horse galloping through the hills.

 

Tom watches it, reminded of years past in the small bedroom of his youth, and finds Chris’s wrist under the sheets.

 

He traces Chris’s palm, gently touching his fingers, and comes to a decision. He pulls the blanket away and sits upwards with a shaky breath, shivering against the morning chill.

 

He leaves the bed as quietly as possible, tapping on his toes to the bathroom, quickly relieving himself and brushing his teeth.

 

He picks the right set of clothes from his closet afterwards, dressing as quietly as he can lest he wakes Chris.

 

When he is about to leave the room, cap in hand, a slow rustle of sheets is heard.

 

“Where are you going?” 

 

Tom halts his steps, lips pulling into a smile when he sees that though he just spoke, Chris’s head is still buried between the pillows.

 

“Out for a jog,” Tom tells him, coming closer to the bed, this time nearing Chris’s side.

 

“It’s cold outside,” Chris grumbles.

 

“Don’t worry,” Tom mutters, touching Chris’s brow and combing his fingers through the soft strands of hair.

 

“I’ll be back before you leave the bed looking for some food.”

  
  


\---------------

  
  


He starts jogging almost immediately, neglecting any warm up as he’s just too cold, his steps and huffs the only sounds audible to Tom’s ears around the yet sleepy neighborhood.

 

He finds the highest, and quite possibly the greenest hill within the nearby area - and heads to the weakly marked path leading to its peak.

 

Once on the top, by now more than a little warm, Tom removes his cap, and stands right at the edge of the ground, breathing heavily while his eyes drink the sight of the young sunrise. 

 

It’s beautiful.

 

The sun shines with shades of orange, Tom’s favorite color, and its rays are wildly mixing with the sky’s shades of blue - which is, according to Tom’s best recollection - Chris’s favorite color.

 

He chuckles at this, at how silly the association is, and walks to one of the nearby trees to lean on for some rest, still watching the infinite sky as his breath calms.  

 

“We actually did it,” He suddenly breathes, running his hand through his hair.

 

“He’s there, at my house, waiting for me to return,” he murmurs to no one, or perhaps to himself, to that constant whisper who’s been mostly, or was it always- right - throughout the entire time. 

 

He remembers everything, or so it feels, - their first kiss, the first time they held hands, Chris’s alcohol touched breath rising within the dirty walls of a dark alley, himself asking Chris for a dance that never materialized-

 

Tom smiles again when the memories rise, all now seem precious - all from painful to sweet.

 

He thinks of his family, of the embrace Emma and Chris had shared just yesterday, and his smile widens.

 

Sarah will be great, and mum- she’ll love Chris, yes, she will, and his father - 

 

Tom wipes more sweat from his forehead and clears his throat.

 

He’ll respect Chris and come to like him as well, all in due time.

 

Chris will be there with Tom during their shared dinners, sit next to him around the table, and visit his childhood bedroom as well - writhing as Tom tries to seduce him towards his old bed-

 

“Oh,” Tom groans lightly and pinches his nose, amusing himself with the rush of sentiments.

 

_ But it’s true- _ that voice tells him, and Tom sets his eyes on the sunrise again, now almost fully mature, viciously red, yellow and gleaming.

 

He’d done deceit, selfishness, chased his own good in the face of fear - paid a dear price for these - with pain and loss of his true self, and yet, right now, he feels happiness.

 

They will be together, Tom’s career shall grow and evolve, Chris’s too, and- they have done it, all by themselves.    

 

He is... happy. 

 

“Yeah,” Tom laughs under his breath, and wears his cap again, staring at the endless sky.

 

_ I’ve learned the hard way, but learned it all thorough and deep _ , he muses, wondering if that could be power as well, before bidding the vast horizon goodbye, until next time.

 

He turns around finds the same murky path again, only now he is about to sprint through the descent- down the hill.

 

He gains speed quickly, gravity drawing him to run faster, and faster, almost dangerously so, but Tom lets his legs race, allowing his body to stretch very close to its limits.

 

Tom runs in a full tilt, with the wind loud in his ears and cold over his face, the scent of nature and sweat in his nose - wild, and lawless.

 

His heart is darting, and he feels strong. Very, very strong.

  
  
  


As strong as Tom believes himself to be.

  
  
  


\------------------------ 

  
  


The sound of the door opening and closing draws him awake.

 

Through the living room and down the hall, Tom’s mild foot taps travel through the walls of the bedroom.

 

Chris continues to doze, yet he distantly listens to the sounds of water streaming coming from the bathtub, and later, of Tom shuffling through his wardrobe.

 

When the mattress shifts, Chris is on his back, and Tom slides right close, placing his head on Chris’s shoulder and splaying his palm over Chris’s abdomen.

 

Chris wraps his arm around him, fingers smoothing down Tom’s shoulder.

 

“Was it cold outside?” he asks.

 

“It was, yes, but I warmed up pretty fast. I ran up one of the hills and saw the sunrise,” Tom muffles, rubbing his cheek against Chris’s skin.

 

“Mmm, that’s cool.” He just might join Tom next time. 

Chris lets his eyes fall shut when drowsiness returns to crawl under his skin, relaxing with the morning sun rays warming his cool nose and Tom’s pleasant body draped against his.

 

He’s been sleeping alone for so long, both physically and mentally.

 

“Say, Chris,” Tom starts-

 

“Would you agree to join me for dinner with my family sometime?”

 

Chris stares at the ceiling, his fingers steepling.

 

“- Not today or tomorrow, of course, but- generally speaking,” Tom adds with some caution.

 

Indeed.

 

And he shall be faced with his most sensitive spots many times more, one occasion after another.

 

“Yeah, we can go, sure.”

 

Tom hums at this, absently patting Chris’s chest. 

 

“We can go and visit your family too, sometime,” he says lightly.

 

Chris turns to look at the window, catching sight of the horse pendant he’d brought Tom a few months prior, now positioned on its cantering legs on the window’s base, glinting under the sunlight.

 

_ Being courageous. And honest. _

 

“Yeah, we’ll do that sometime too.”

 

“Mmm,-”

 

“My mum will love you,” Tom says suddenly, moving to peck his cheek, a pleasant smile gracing his lips.

 

“Because you are a prince. My prince.”

 

“A prince,” Chris glances at him and chuckles bashfully, drawing Tom closer to him.

 

Tom has a delightful smile.

 

So do Chris’s kids.

 

And Chris is with their mother no more, despite the fact the being with her may be the right thing to do - 

 

Or so most people would say.

 

He’d made mistakes, he’d denied his true self and by doing so caused pain to others - but he’d been hopeful too, coarsely daring to dream and wish for some gentleness, and finally, finally told - and faced the truth.

 

And where he is right now, it is imperfect, and yet - it is where he chooses to be.

 

He can… feel, and let go.

 

“Would you come with me for a swim sometime?” he asks Tom, thinking of his dream, of people he’d loved in the past, and those he loves right at this moment.

 

“I’d like that,” Tom tells him with another delicate smile.

 

“We can make a few dives together, just me and you,” Chris says, following his heart, wish, and mind.

 

_ I’m a sinner, I’m a dreamer. _

 

He kisses Tom’s mouth, and closes his eyes for sensation.

  
  
  


For I am alive,- 

  
  
  


And I. Am. Free.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my life is changing every day, In every possible way.  
> And oh, my dreams, it's never quite as it seems,  
> Never quite as it seems.
> 
> I want more - impossible to ignore,  
> Impossible to ignore.  
> And they'll come true, impossible not to do,  
> Impossible not to do.
> 
> And oh, my dreams,  
> It's never quite as it seems,  
> 'Cause you're a dream to me,  
> A dream to me.
> 
> [ The Cranberries - Dreams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yam5uK6e-bQ)


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